


Teen Idle

by BigScaryDinos



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Animal Abuse, Asphyxiation, Blood and Gore, Bloodplay, Daddy Issues, Disturbing Themes, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mental Instability, Multi, Oral Sex, Puppy Play, Ramsay is his own warning, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Content, Sexual Fantasy, So many daddy issues, Stockholm Syndrome, Thramsay - Freeform, Victim Blaming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-15
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-02-21 07:49:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 60
Words: 74,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2460551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigScaryDinos/pseuds/BigScaryDinos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theon is  spoiled. He thinks nothing can change him, until he meets a special someone who can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> I had this stuck in my head for such a long time. I've never written any Thramsay so be gentle please. Feedback is wonderful. Sorry to start you off in the middle of things, next chapter will be the beginning I promise.

My Master really does take care of me. Wonderful care. Loving care. He does. 

Every morning when I wake up I take my pills just like He tells me to. He wants me to stay healthy. All my vitamins sitting with my cup of water. He always has them set out for me but I don’t know when He does it, since I’m always with Him. I never even seen the bottles, but that’s okay. I don’t need to, I just need to be good for my Master, just like He’s good to me. 

He always gives me one cup of water in the morning. So I can swallow everything down. If I’m good later I can get some more, but in the morning I especially need it. The Calcium pills are so big I can barely choke them down normally and when my Master takes away my water I don’t even think I can swallow them all. So I get one small cup every morning. 

He likes to watch me take my pills, so every morning I get up and hobble to the kitchen to make Him breakfast. He loves different things every day. Sometimes He doesn’t like what I make Him and I know it’s my fault and I understand that He has to punish me for ruining His morning. He only hurts me when He has to. When I’m bad and make Him teach me lessons. 

I make Him breakfast and bring it to Him in bed, He likes when I curl up around His feet when He’s eating. Sometimes He gives me scraps. When He’s done I take my cup of water and swallow my pills down. He smiles. I love that smile, it means I’m doing good. I’m being good for Him. He always says I have to take them all so I can be strong for Him. He doesn’t want a weak pet. 

Before I started taking my vitamins in the morning when He would punish me sometimes I wouldn’t heal right and He would be mad and upset. That was before I knew who I was. I was confused and would be bad and hurt Him because I was stupid. He had to teach me a lot of things about myself but now I know and that makes Him very happy. He still has to teach me things, but I try to be good which makes things easier for Him. 

When we’re done I clean up the dishes, sometimes He stays in bed and sometimes He comes downstairs to watch me. Sometimes He plays with me. He talks to me and tells me about His day and what He needs to do. Sometimes He tells me story about that person I used to pretend to be. I try to be strong for those stories, but I always shake. He tells me it’s okay as long as I know who I am now. I do. I know who I am and who I’m suppose to be. I’m His pet. 

This makes Him so happy sometimes He takes me right there in the kitchen as I’m cleaning up my mess. He loves to push me over the sink, and pull my pants to my ankles and take His time, building up His pleasure. Once I was really bad and I broke His favorite glass. It was one His father had gotten for Him. He bent me over the stove and took me hard and fast, my palms pressed against the hot stove top, burning the skin. I could smell my skin burning for weeks afterwards. He came as I cried and screamed and my skin sizzled off. 

I understand I needed the punishment though. He didn’t want to hurt me. He had to because I’d been bad and how can I ever be a good pet if I don’t make Him happy? 

Sometimes as He’s behind me, thrusting His hard cock into my waiting hole I feel Him pulling on my hair, tangling the thinning strands around His fingers. He pulls my head back so I can look into His eyes and He asks me “Who are you?”. I smile with my cracked chapped lips and broken teeth. He likes when I smile. He likes when I cry and scream too, but when He asks me questions like this and I know the right answer I smile. 

“I’m Reek.” I say, feeling His warmth fill me, He collapses against me, wrapping one hand around my throat and the other around my hips, pulling me closer to Him. 

“Your Reek, always.” I smile feeling Him against me. His heartbeat filling my ears. His hands on my body that only He could love. 

My Master is very, very good to me.


	2. Shitty Home Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little taste of Theon's shitty home life.

 

       Theon woke up, stretching his arms above his head and yawned. For a few seconds he felt total bliss, morning sun streaming through the window above his bed, warming his skin, the comfort of the blankets wrapped carelessly around his waist, the soft feeling of the woman next to him when he reached out to touch her. The woman next to him, oh right. He thought to himself. Better get her out of here before his father found out.

 

       The youngest son and the only one who never really did much with his life Theon had been pushed into all sorts of homes and boarding schools since he was ten. His other brothers and his sister didn’t have to go through those things, just him. Always the disappointment. Why? He had been cursed to be born last. He dared to enjoy hunting and fishing more than school work. He loved the outdoors, loved to fight and chase girls. His siblings all aspired for something more than the sandy shore they were raised on, but to Theon is was always enough. As long as he could find a girl to kiss, woods to explore, and some salt water to swim in he was content. Balon’s greatest nightmare.

 

       At first he had been fostered with some wealthy family thousands of miles away from his family. It was the thing to do at the time, a trend of letting others raise your extra children while you fussed with the ones you wanted. The Starks, they’d been called. The couple who raised him during his most difficult years had five children of their own as well as a child whose origins were a bit, well shakey. Nobody knew for sure who were the parents to this sixth child, but Theon didn’t care at all. They were good company who enjoyed mostly everything that he did. That was enough for him.

 

       Overall he’d spent several years with them, being raised with more love and more discipline than he was sure his father was capable of displaying. His father was much more preoccupied with his “worthwhile” children. Balon wasn’t exactly the warmest father but he never even bothered to raise his hand in punishment to his youngest. While Rodrik, Maron, and Asha were raised to aspire for more, Theon was raised by babysitters who couldn’t say no and would never dream of forcing him to do anything he didn’t want to do. Spoiled was a word commonly used to describe him. It didn’t help that he was beautiful.

 

       Nobody couldn’t say no to his curly light hair and bright blue eyes. Once he left home and stayed with the Starks they had hoped to break him of his spoiled nature. Frequent spankings and scoldings led to Theon becoming sneaky, turning instead to others who would fulfill his requests. When Balon finally decided to visit and see what his son was doing he was repulsed.

 

       “Those fucking Northerners are making you worse.” It was all Theon heard for years to come.

 

       Balon was furious but wouldn't let his son come home. Through strained telephone calls between Asha and Theon he had discovered his father had plans on moving him to a boarding school. Unable to do anything he had gone, and broken every rule they had put in front of him. Women were not allowed in the boy’s dorms and yet Theon had managed at least two different women every week. Curfew was nothing more than an intangible concept. Any contraband was brought in with the same amount of effort other boys spent playing video games.

 

       He was quickly kicked out. Three more schools followed. The longest Theon had to stay in one place was three days shy of four months. Now at the age of eighteen he had been allowed to come home. He was an adult, no more boarding school, no more shipping him off like he was package just to be delivered to someplace else. He would be terribly wrong. When he saw the long strip of nearly deserted beach he called home he was thrilled. He had missed the salt in the air and the gulls squawking and screaming overhead.

 

       The brief happiness he felt was taken away when every action was met with his father’s constant disapproval. Although not a famous name, Greyjoy was a respected family in their own special corner of the world. No matter what Theon did, it would always bring shame to the family. Good or bad deeds meant nothing. Good was never good enough and bad was always too bad no matter how minor the offense.

 

       His brothers had disappeared to whatever they were doing now, probably doctors and lawyers never to be heard from again. Which left Asha, his father, his always sickly mother, and of course himself. His mother only wanted her little boy to be home and happy, but the same couldn’t be said about his father. He accused him of whoring and drinking and generally being a disgrace to everything and anything the name Greyjoy could stand for. Any success his brothers had, and morsel of happiness his sister experienced was always dashed by Theon being alive.

 

       So with nothing better to do he became exactly as his father expected him to be. A man who slept with anything and everything. A man who went to each and every bar and drank until he could barely crawl out of the door. Everything he touched he ruined, but he was used to the power of his name. Everyone around him knew who he was, knew his father, his family. When daddy’s credit cards were cancelled he was still welcome to drink all night at any location he chose.

 

       Which is how he ended up in his bedroom with some girl he needed to get rid of before his father took away more of his money or kicked him out. That was the newest threat.

 

_“I swear to god, Theon, if I ever see another streetwalker leave my house it will be you walking out the door after her and I won’t let you back in this time. Do you understand me?”_

 

       The words still ringing in his ears as he tried to think of a plan. On the third floor getting out through the window was impossible unless he wanted her to break her legs. Honestly, he didn’t really care much about her legs unless they were wrapped around his back when he was on top of her, but knew a woman laying on the beach beneath his window screaming over snapped bones would look even worse than trying to get her out through the front door.

 

       “Wake up. “ Shaking her in a bit of a panic. “You need to leave.” She sighed and flipped onto her back, exposing the angry red nail marks across her pale skin. He had forgotten how rough he could get when plastered, but guilt didn’t mean anything right now. She needed to leave.

 

       Theon got up, gathering her clothes where ever they had hidden and forced her pants onto her thin legs. The girl who didn’t even had a name anymore finally responded, silently fixing her pants as Theon shot daggers her way.

 

       “We need to hurry.” As long as nobody saw her walking out the door he would be okay. She finally finished getting dressed when he grabbed her hand and pulled her into the hallway and down into the back stairwell. Taking the steps two at a time he shoved the girl out the door and into the waking world feeling a roiling in his gut.

 

       He had all of ten seconds to thank whatever gods might be watching him that nobody had seen this girl leaving his house before he bolted to the bathroom, landing hard on his knees and praying to another god entirely.

 

                                                                                                            X

 

       “What did I tell you last time I saw some whore leaving my house?”

 

       Theon grimaced, his eyes finding some flaw in the hardwood table he was currently trapped behind. Silent minutes passed until finally, daring to meet his father’s eyes he looked up.

 

       “What are you talking about?” Knowing his voice betrayed him. How had he seen her? He had thought he had gotten away.

 

       “If you think you can hide things from me you are sorely mistaken, son.” He spat the last word like an insult, something to be repulsed by. Asha watched on, quietly. His mother was somewhere upstairs, taking her dinner in her bedroom. This standoff would be one on one. Theon was in a word, fucked.

 

       “Father, all I can say is that I’m not doing anything terrible. If having a girlfriend - “

 

       “Girlfriend? A steady woman in your life would do you good. Not these, these sluts who - “

 

       “What does it matter?” His eyes burning with fury, his mind running in circles. In the end what did it matter if his son could have a little bit of fun every now and again. It wasn’t hurting him. Hell it wasn't hurting anybody.

 

       “It matters. It matters to not knock up every woman in town. It matters that you not come off as some kind of whore yourself. I don’t want to have to pay for the thousands of bastards you’ve probably already created. I don’t want to pay for the diseases you’ve caught from women who can’t keep their legs shut.” His words dripped venom.

 

       “I’m not asking for anything, not asking for your money, not asking for you to pay for any goddamn thing.” Theon couldn’t help the defiance. It was all he was, all he had. This smart mouth that could run and run for days on end.

 

       Balon’s eyes burned holes into his son, Asha who had say quietly off to the side pushing her spoon into the mush on her plate now dared to open her mouth.

 

       “Father, just give him one more chance, please.” Theon would have hugged her right then if he felt he could move. Finally some help, but it came much too late.

 

       “Do you recall what I told you last time I saw you with somebody in my home?” Theon tried to swallowed the lump growing in his throat. That sickening feeling from before was rising in his stomach, acid burned the back of his throat.

 

       “Yes, father.”

 

       “Well I expect you to have your things packed and I want you gone before sunrise tomorrow. If I see you here again I’ll call the police. I’ll do whatever I have to but you are not welcome back here.” Asha gasped, Balon stood, throwing his napkin onto his half full plate and walked into the kitchen before another word could be spoken. Theon felt anger, disappointment and the old familiar pain that came with such a scalding. His eyes stung. His lips, twitching as if he still had words trapped between them, finally stopped their frantic movement. Biting back the emotions that threatened to overtake him he became stone.

 

       He moved to stand up, he had packing to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m glad people like the first part! I promise I’ll be switching up the POV, making things interesting. Comments are great! :D


	3. A Bedtime Story.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Story time with our favorite psychopath.

           

 

           Do you want to hear about how I found _him_ , little pet? He was sitting on the side of the road like some rubbish put out for garbage day. You’re so lucky I found him that night, otherwise who knows where you would be. You would never know who you are if not for him. Let’s not think of that, I know you’re so grateful to me for opening your eyes.

 

           Come a little closer and I’ll tell you all about it. This is my favorite story. The very best there ever was. I can tell you everything that happened that night. Don’t shake. This isn’t a scary story.

 

           It was cold and I was miserable. I was in a piss poor mood because I was bored. Don’t you hate that little one, when you just have nothing to do at all? Well you don’t know what that’s like do you? There’s always _something_ for you to do.

 

           I was looking for a woman to be honest. Or a man. Women can be so fickle sometimes. I just wanted a throat to shove my cock down. That was all I wanted... at first. A nice pretty face to fuck ‘til they were bloody. It was raining and the wind was howling. My favorite bar had just closed for the night and I was feeling feisty. Do you even know what that word means?  Not that it matters.

 

           Now _you_ understand I can have anybody I wanted, anybody at all even if they didn’t like it. I wanted something special. Then I thought of him. I thought of his lips wrapped around me, gagging and moaning at the same time. Thinking of his blue eyes watering and the way his voice sounded made me, well pet I don’t think you understand what was going on inside my mind and it’s best you don’t. I thought of terrible things. Doing things to that person you were.

 

           Sh, quiet down now. All this is past, this is just a story. Like the kinds in the books.  Don’t you want to know how I found him?

 

           I remembered how he tasted. Even away from that shit covered sand patch he tasted like salt. It was that person I wanted to find, so I got into my car and I drove to the shore. I was thinking about parking somewhere and walking out to the beach, in the rain! Isn’t that silly of me? I could have gotten sick. Even if I had gotten out what on Earth was I thinking of doing? Fucking a seagull? Maybe sticking my cock in the sand. Ha, well it didn’t matter because it was just then that I saw this shape, slumped over by a bus stop. I came closer and closer and then I saw you.

 

           Well yes, it isn’t you now, but it was who you were. Who you were pretending to be. Do you remember about Theon? Oh now, stop that crying. No punishments for stories! This isn’t a game. There’s no winning or losing, I just want you to rest that sweet simple head. Oh yes Reek, I understand. We got rid of him together.  This boy who was sitting there,  I remember him being bigger and stronger. I remembered his hair brighter, his eyes wider. This boy smelled of alcohol and was barely awake. If he had been off the curb anymore I might have hit him by accident. Wouldn’t that just be a shame...hmm…

         

           I pulled up and rolled down my window and this boy tried to stand up and squint into the car. Do you remember what that boy said to me? That terrible awful boy who was hanging onto my car for dear life?

 

           He said, “I know you. You’re…..Snow.” I laughed because if I didn’t laugh I would have killed that boy right there. That soaking wet boy that couldn’t even stand up. You can stand straight up Reek. See? You’re so much _better_ than he could ever be. You’ll never be such a sorry disappointment.

 

           He got into my car and told me everything. He was so stupid. He told me about the fight with his father. How he was kicked out of the house. He told me about his mother and his brothers and his sister. He told me stories of whores and drinking all night. He told me about how he didn’t have anywhere to go. He told me how nobody even wanted him. He told me how he could barely remember me but that he was so _grateful_ I was there to save him.

  
  
           I didn’t save him did I? I saved _you_. That’s right my little pet, you’re safe with me.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically the contents of this chapter take place in the weeks after Chapter two. I’m trying to play with POV and timelines and things, so let me know if this jumping around is too confusing.The comments on the last two chapters are so encouraging! Hope this one doesn’t disappoint.


	4. Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon and Ramsay strike a deal.

 

 Theon couldn’t believe his luck. One day he had been homeless. Thrown out. Abandoned. Then this kid he had barely even known rolled up to him and took him home like some lost puppy. He had gotten to this kid’s house then passed out, dead to the world for at least twelve hours.  At some point after what could possibly count as a brief coma, he had woken to the feeling of a dog’s tongue lapping at his face and he decided to figure out what was going on.

 

Everything seemed better  than he could possibly imagine.The house was more than sufficient, but every time he tried to remember this kid, Ramsay something or another. Maybe with a B? All he got was a small scared faced passing him for a few months in the halls of what looked like an old castle from outside, but was hell from the inside.

 

Harrenhal Academy for Young Boys was a prison. A huge old multistory building, Theon spent part of his fifteenth year exploring before finally being kicked out for multiple indiscretions. While he was there he noticed a younger Ramsay what's-his-face for nothing more than a few passing moments. Granted the fourteen year old was interesting to look at. Those cold dead eyes, even when he was smiling.

 

There was some kind of drunk accident one night, but Theon didn’t dwell on it. There were all kinds of things he didn’t remember doing when he had himself one too many. Regardless it couldn’t have been that bad if here was the same kid, grown and none too terrible looking offering his help. Thick curly locks hid his eyes as he presented his deal to Theon over a short stack of pancakes that first morning.

 

“I’d just think with what you told me yesterday it would be best if you stayed here. I’m not asking you twice.  This is my one deal so once it goes off the table it’s off.”

 

Theon was nearly starved from his few days passing himself from house to house. A few old friends of his took him in for a day or two, but nobody could deal with him longer than seventy two hours. He’d go home with women at the end of the night just to have a bed to sleep in. He’d laugh to himself while fucking them senseless for a roof over his head thinking about his father. How would he look at this situation?

Shoving the food into his mouth as if he hadn't seen food in years, he nodded,

 

“Course I’d love to live here. I just feel a bit, well...what exactly is it I have to do to stay here? You’re not going to just let me live here outta the goodness of your heart.” He chuckled even as those icy eyes looked into his. There was a spark there, somewhere hiding.

 

“Well I’m sure I can think of _something_ to do with you.” They both laughed.  Ramsay waved his knife through the air carelessly. An attempt to be less threatening and more nonchalant. Feeling heat creep into his cheeks Theon put his eyes on his plate.

 

“Well I have to say I thank you. I just … and I feel terrible saying this. I just don’t even remember your name. I just remember they called you Snow right? Ramsay Snow?”

 

That spark died as if Theon had just thrown a bucket of ice water.

 

“Bolton.”

 

“Oh, sorry, I’ll remember next time. I just never was in the same classes as you. I just, only remember what other kids said - “ Theon stopped dead. Suddenly remembering just what the other kids had said.

 

 

_“That one is fucked.”_

_“He’s a bastard. A real bastard. They call him Snow but it may as well be ice the way he acts. “_

_“Know why he’s here? His dad’s pretty powerful. They found him skinning animals alive in his backyard. He was making some other kids watch.”_

_“They say he killed his brother.”_

 

Theon’s smile melted as voices echoed inside his head. If only he  could remember that one drunk night he’d feel a lot better. He wasn’t about to ask though. He just remember a dark room and Ramsay…was he screaming? Fighting? Were they kicking the shit out of each other? Theon could taste salted iron in his mouth just from the broken memory.

 

“What did those kids say about me?” Head cocked, eyes curious. There was something dangerous playing on his lips. Theon noticed how not once since meeting him could he recall his name leaving that bastards lips. He had to stop thinking that though. ‘The bastard.’ He should really be more grateful. Having this kid who barely knew him take him in. Stop thinking these terrible things.

 

Theon swallowed and smiled, looking into the bas - no, Ramsay’s eyes.

 

“You know how children are.” He laughed, trying to break the mood that permeated the dining room.  Ramsay let a chuckle slip through his closed mouth. He did in fact know firsthand how cruel children could be. He was looking straight at one over sized child who had been _exceptionally_ cruel.

“Well then, do we have a deal? You’ll stay and I’ll think of _something_ …”

 

Ramsay smirked extending his hand out, offering it to cement the agreement. Finally Theon did as well, raising his lips into the smile he hadn’t been able to show for weeks.

 

“Deal.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys! Was my anniversary yesterday so I was pretty busy most of the day, lol. Finally some actual interaction. Do you guys want some Ramsay backstory soon? I wanna write about baby!Ramsay like nobody’s business. Also do you guys like the jumping around or should I just tell things in one clear POV and normal timeline? Comments are the best!!!!


	5. Ramsay Snow

 

 

Ramsay Snow was only eleven when he was packed off to Harrenhal. His father at one point had actually had some kind of hand in the school. Roose Bolton never really talked about it much, but he never really talked about much. He had worked as some kind of administrator very briefly, at least that was his official title. 

 

Until three weeks after his eleventh birthday he lived with his mother. A mother that meant nothing more than a casual fuck to Roose. A mother who never wanted to be a mother. His birth was some kind of mistake. Roose lived with his fat and happy wife off in some beautiful big house while Ramsay was stuck with his sad excuse for a mother in a one bedroom apartment that never had circulating air.

 

His mother was a bitter woman who hated Roose and everything about him. She even went so far as to hate Ramsay when the mood would strike her, and the mood often struck her like a baseball bat to the head. One look at those eyes could push her over the edge despite Ramsay trying _so_ very hard to just be good. She would attack her only son with words and fists and whatever was closest at hand more often than not. He had grown angry and just as bitter towards the world and everyone in it. He especially hated his father. Who would abandon a child to such a crazy bitch? Who would just leave and never show his face. Ramsay thought about what he must look like and how much he would love to ruin the smirk he perpetually saw his imagination wearing.

 

His mother got checks from his father; who wouldn’t even give his son his last name but would give them two hundred dollars a month. Needless to say they never had any effect on the only child. A selfish woman, Miss Snow would spend the money on whatever she wanted. They didn’t even have cable. They did have a rather impressive liquor cabinet. Ramsay was cursed to spending all his time finding ways to amuse himself far from the apartment; it was never his home, to avoid his wasted mother. Through the years of pain at the hands on the only person who claimed to care about him he found his own disturbing set of hobbies.

 

He loved animals, but love in his mind meant pain. It was just how the equation added up time and time again. If his mother loved him, she beat him. If his father loved him, he left him. Emotional, physical, whatever he could inflict would due. Boredom was the second  problem. The kids in his neighborhood often didn’t want to trouble themselves with him and his often drunk and crazy mother, who would take a belt to her son in the apartment lobby for no reason.  So he had started playing in the woods behind the chain linked fence around the property with sick animals. They couldn't fight back. He would nurse them back to health for a while, grow bored and find new ways to torment them. He snapped chipmunk's legs clean off between his filthy fingers. When he stole a pocketknife from the corner store it was the end. 

 

The only time Roose was called was when he got in trouble, and when some kids found him skinning a live rabbit by the back fence Roose was the first person on the phone.

 

“I just can’t do it anymore. You need to do something with _your_ fucking son.” Fat salty tears streaked her face as she poured herself another tumbler of scotch. Her poison of choice and the only drink Ramsay would never touch in his entire life. The very pitch of her voice changed as she cried over the phone.

 

Ramsay who promised himself he would never cry again when he was five and his mother had dislocated his shoulder in a drunken fit, stood defiantly in the hallway listening to the one sided conversation.

 

“I can’t fucking do it anymore. I can’t and you can’t fucking make me. He is an absolute nightmare. You live with your goddamn mistakes for once.”

 

  
A few nights later some man who Ramsay had never seen before came to “collect” him, like he was some change laying on a dashboard. The man could have been anybody, somebody from the school or a forgotten ex boyfriend of his mother's. Ramsay knew better. No introductions were needed. One car ride through the country and a breakfast made for a king later and Ramsay would be dropped off at Harrenhal by a man with the same icy cold eyes he saw staring at himself in the mirror every night.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part one of potentially three (? maybe more?) little Ramsay chapters. What makes his skin crawl. Why he's so fucked up now. All those daddy issues. I found out as nervous as I was to write Ramsay I'm loving it. So if you guys like it, there will be more. 
> 
> Also gonna be a bit busy this week/weekend so I'll try to update as soon as I can. As always feedback is amazing, so glad so many people like where I'm going with this!


	6. Dear Sister

To : [ AshGrey_024@hotmail.com     ](mailto:AshGrey_024@hotmail.com)

From: [ xXMighty_KrakkenXx@gmail.com ](mailto:xXMighty_KrakkenXx@gmail.com)

Subject : RE Life?

 

okay listen before you get bent out of shape just listen to this for a sec. don’t panic. everything is fine : ]   i got your emails, my computers just really weird right now so im having problems answering them.  do u remember when dad sent me to that one school like a million hours away. there was this kid there and i met up with him and everything is good. we used to be kinda friends. so he said i can stay at his place.

 

i think you’d really like him. hes only a year younger than me but he’s like really really well off. like better than us. well better than you. :p. we just started hanging out one night and i was telling him how i got kicked out and he said i could come stay with him. it’s awesome really. looking for a job as we speak. what do you see me doing? any suggestions are appreciated. i never even did an interview. maybe you can get dad to send me some money so i can buy myself some nicer clothes…. nevermind i’ll just ask my room mate, if he’s got anything i can borrow.

 

you're probably going to ask all about him. here’s what i can tell you. his dad is really kinda rich. more than dad. he owns some kind of company. ramsay [this kid im living with] works for him. he mostly works at home, but sometimes he has to go in for meetings. tbh i don’t really know what he does, but i’m sure it’s important otherwise he’d never be able to afford a place half as nice as this.

 

it’s way out in the county. like we have no neighbors. his other friends come stay sometimes but literally there’s like so many rooms in this place that half the time i don’t even know if they’re here or if they left or what. its crazy. i have this nice room in the basement. im not complaining when i say its a bit small, but its cozy you know.

gonna send you a picture over here since my phone doesn’t really want to work anymore and i feel terrible asking my friend to help me out with that too. like there’s only so much before they stop giving you know, and he’s been so nice so far. it’s really great.

 

oh and he’s got so all these cute dogs. he says they’re hunting dogs, but i’ve never seen him hunting yet. but they love me i think. they’re the absolute best.

 

would you believe im trying to stop drinking. yeah, me of all people. anyway, this is just a little update. sorry for not having any caps, this keyboard on my laptop is acting weird. once again have no money so i can’t get it fixed. im lucky its working at all. i’ll try to talk to you more. tell mom i miss her. dont even bother telling dad im alive, he doesn’t give a shit. but really, ill talk to rams about it and ill let you know if you can come out to visit maybe for holidays, i just don't wanna make his life too much of a mess. maybe ill come visit mom. dad can suck my dick. lol.

 

 - little bro. 


	7. The Shortest Distance Between Two Points....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title is from The Glitch Mob - Between Two Points (feat. Swan). Just put that into youtube and you'll have some nice music to listen to while reading this slightly painful chapter.

 

 

All I can say is I guess it didn’t take long. I tried to stop drinking. I really did, the shakes were so bad at first I didn’t think I was going to live through it. Ramsay was helping me for a bit, then one night he caved. I caved. We both were eating dinner. He was eating dinner. I don’t even remember what it was and I couldn’t even hold a fork. I was just looking at my plate like my eyes could devour the food. I couldn’t look at him. Some part of me feels guilty all the time, just to see those eyes. I’ve done something terribly wrong I just wish I could remember what it was.He got up and came back. I just saw his hand move. He just poured me some Scotch. I don’t even like Scotch. I don’t know why I drank it but I did. I was doing so good.

 

I just kept drinking. He was watching me. I remember that. I remember his eyes looking at me like I was some kind of … bug. I don’t know if there’s a better word to use. Like he was just waiting til I got a bit closer to step on me and crunch me under his boot like some insignificant thing. I guess that’s what I am if I can’t even do this much right. All I wanted to do was make sure he didn’t kick me out because I have no more money. If he offered me the glass is it still terrible of me to take it?

 

I guess it doesn’t matter, because I drank like a fucking fish. I gulped down whatever he put in front of me like I’ve been waiting for it from the second I was born. Some part of me wanted this so badly. I didn’t just want to stop the shakes. I wanted to get drunk. Plastered like wallpaper. I wanted to be gone. The thing I remember thinking all night was _Oh god, I don’t want to be Theon anymore._

 

I don’t remember what was real and what was fake. I don’t remember much of anything other than those first few drinks. Slow motioned and hazy.  Watching him watch me like it was a challenge. He didn’t even say anything. After watching me for a few minutes he finished his meal. I tried to and even though I could hold the fork the food was moving all over my plate. Even when I got anything on my fork I couldn’t figure out where my mouth was. It was disgusting. He didn’t laugh though. Just watched. His eyes were laughing though. I felt it.

 

I remember his hand touching my hand. He was helping me, but then his hands were all over me. I don’t know if that happened or if I’m just making this up. One hand was in my hair, and the other was on my shoulder. He was pushing me away while he was pulling me in.

 

I don’t know if that happened. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, so if his lips grazed mine I would have felt that prickly feeling on my face. That burning when teeth bit into my lower lip. And I just sat there. If it happened at all. He was standing next to me suddenly. Maybe he had been standing there for a while. Then his hands were working on his belt, his legs spread, my face so close to his  -

 

Well I really don’t want to spread rumors. I don’t want to even think about things that didn’t happen. I was so drunk I can’t remember what it felt like when his hands found my jaw and forced my mouth open. I can guess that the grinding of the bones in my face would have felt like trying to slam on the breaks when you’re going too fast and out of control in a winter storm and you hit black ice going  double the speed limit.  

 

I’m not going to lie when I say I’ve been with boys. I was younger. I didn’t know what I wanted and I wanted everything at the same time. I still don’t know what I want exactly. I never took anybody in my mouth. I might have the other night. I might have felt him force himself into the back of my throat. Or maybe it was just the Scotch forcing it’s way back up. Some kind of clash of titans inside the hollow cavity between my mouth and my stomach. I drank so much of it in such a short time.

 

I’m not a poet. I’m not a liar. I’m not a gossip. I may have felt something sick and salty coating my mouth, dripping it’s way slowly into my aching, raw throat. I may have felt that sticky white mess running between my teeth. My eyes were rolling like waves on the sea. I wanted to scream but I couldn’t because I just couldn’t leave tonight. I know if I screamed I’d be out the door. If this happened. I’m not saying it  did.  The only thing I know for sure is that when the sky was dark and the air was still I was sick. I was sobbing. I was shaking. I was begging him to stop. I didn’t want to be this anymore. This sick sad lost person who’s stuck. This person who can’t get the contents of my stomach out fast enough.

 

I do know he was there. His hands rubbing against my bare back, warm and real and comforting. I do know he ran those hands through my hair. I know he held onto me while my face was wet with snot and puke and tears and spit. He just held my face to his naked chest and cooed, like I was one of his dogs.

 

_Shhhh, it’s okay. Get it all out._

 

And I screamed with cramps and muscle spasms. I screamed because I’m me. I think I told him then. I think I moaned into his throat that I was so fucking tired of being Theon fucking Greyjoy. I’m broken and needy. I don’t remember much, but I remember his kindness. His kindness was real.

  
_Shh, you don’t have to be him for much longer. I’ll help you._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, right? 
> 
> Either way I was debating posting this or another baby Ramsay chapter. I think that will be next. Let me know if you want more flashbacks about Ramsay cause I've definitely maybe got a chapter or two written up about him.  
> Annddd soon enough we'll find out what Theon did. I promise. 
> 
> Comments are as always very much appreciated. <3


	8. Ramsay Snow II

 

 

For young Ramsay Snow, the next few months went along as best as he could expect. He kept to himself for the most part despite the crowds of people in the halls and dorm rooms. Lunch was an activity best done in silence and privacy. Coldness seemed to come naturally to him. Rumors spread about his notable father, and every teacher took the chance to call him out.

_“Snow, can you tell me who was responsible for the - “_

__

_“If you would be so kind, Snow as to stay after class and - “_

__

_“Snow, why is your room not clean? There was an inspection - “_

He grew to loathe that name, shaking in anger whenever he heard it. It reminded him so often of the father he didn’t have, the mother he did, and the life he had had to endure because of it.  He would stand and accept it from the instructors and administrators. He simply couldn’t do anything but dig his own nails into his soft palm leaving red angry half moon shapes scarred into his hands for years to come.

Then the kids picked up on it. Ramsay had his father’s natural fighting skills, which was a surprise to everyone including himself when some sorry older boy had happened to see a vulnerable young Ramsay in the hall, walking between classes. Ramsay never needed to defend himself. With his mother he simply accepted the punishment he received. His lack of friends growing up had meant little and less interaction let alone fighting. Animals didn't fight like people, they just chewed at your fingers and released cries into your hands while you did what you wanted. He hadn't even known what he was doing that day until his body acted on his quick temper.

“Hey Snow, I thought this school was only for kids with money, not _bastards_ like you.”

Those were the last words that boy spoke for days. A fist to the mouth, connecting with teeth and lip and hard jaw bone caused a hush in the hall. Teachers were called, Ramsay was punished but not without a smile on his lips. Blood oozed lazily from his knuckles for the rest of the week whenever he squeezed his fingers into a tight fist, which he began doing quite often. The rumors started then, about his violence and anger. Ramsay’s hobbies were rekindled, and a few boys flocked to him. He soon had his own small pack roaming the school and no child called him Snow to his face again.

Things went well, fear was an emotion Ramsay understood. He found he loved to be feared. Fear was like an extension of love, it was like some kind of sick admiration came from the boys who wouldn't even walk on the same side of the hall as him.  Any time anyone dared to cross  him, he was quick to put an end to it...one way or another. Everything went well until one morning in the winter  when he had a telephone call.

The voice on the other end was one he hadn't heard in months, the man whom shared his same icy eyes was calling him now? Ramsay stood, freezing in his sleeping shorts and little else with the pay phone's receiver stuck to his ear like cheap headphones. His eyes burned holes out the thick frosted window next to him, eying the building piles of white fluff coating the lawn.

“How are things going there? I hope everything is to your satisfaction, _son_.”

Ramsay shivered before he could answer, as if his answer mattered. Slowly all the hate he had felt for this man who until recently had been as intangible as the air, vanished like smoke. He pressed his forehead to the cool glass and spoke gently, slowly - respectfully. The conversation lasted a few moments longer before the point was finally established.

“I’d like to have you here, home with me for a proper winter holiday.”  Yes. Yes. A million times yes. Suddenly he was out to impress this man who called him his son. He would be picked up in two weeks to spend his break at his father’s beautiful home somewhere in the county. A million questions passed through his mind that night, flitting through for seconds. Was this a trick? A trap? What could he even call this man? Mr. Bolton? Father? Dad? He fell into a fitful sleep wondering just what those eyes were looking at and if the owner of those terrifying eyes even thought of him as a son, or some kind of obligation.

Days passed in both the same manner as before, but also in a new light that Ramsay had never seen. When the day finally came he was more excited than he ever recalled being. When the same shiny red car pulled up to the parking lot Ramsay was ready.

 

The ride was long, talking wasn't a priority but that was fine. Questions that had hung around him fled like flies chased away with the threat of a newspaper. "Home" was a modern, decent sized building at the edge of a nice community. With acres of land surrounding it, it was perfect. Things weren't as perfect inside. Some nasty bitch frequented the house, insisting she be called "Mrs. Bolton." There was an even larger problem. Domeric was his name. He was his brother...half brother technically. 

 

In his defense the boy had tried to be nice to Ramsay, but greedy with his new found father’s love he couldn’t bond with his only sibling. One day Ramsay had decided enough was enough, if they only had one child, just one, maybe they would want to keep him. The sick thoughts rose in his mind, stewing over fancy dinners and overly expensive presents. The only probably was that fucking _Mrs. Bolton._ The more he thought on it, however, he realized that bitch would be a better mother than his ever had been.  Never had he seen this woman raise her hand to anyone, just her voice occasionally. He would suffer through it. She would love him in time. It would be worth it.

One day when the boys were out playing, Domeric slipped. At least that’s what Ramsay said when he came back in from the biting cold, crying and his hands covered in blood.

“Father….he….” Ramsay broke down, sobbing those unreleased years of tears into his gorey hands. Victory was in his hands, it felt slippery and cold and wonderful. When he pressed his aching cold hands to his face baptizing himself in his brother's blood it tasted sweet and delicious.

 

 

Instead of being the only son, the best son, the strongest son, he had been sent back while “Mrs.” Bolton had a nervous breakdown.

When he returned there was no kindness waiting for him, only more rumors. More fear. Since the one chance of a family he had was snatched from his fingertips he had become even colder. If one good thing occurred from the incident with his half brother it was that now he knew exactly what he liked.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween guys :D. Loving writing all this baby Ramsay stuff. I was writing a few things up last night and you are not gonna like where things are heading. >:). Comments are appreciated!


	9. Dream A Little Dream of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dream was usually the same. It was his absolute favorite dream.

“Come on, follow me a bit further. It’ll be fun I promise.” I say. My voice trembling with excitement. My hands quiver as the cold air bites the tender flesh. I want to scream. The anxious joy inside my gut squirming like worms through me. My blood on fire as I look back and he’s there. Young, always with those wide blue eyes. 

 

His breathing is ragged as he struggles to keep up. A life spent through piano lessons and nannies hasn’t helped him here. The cool dark woods to either side, snow crunching under my feet. His footsteps falling so much louder, echoing, somebody will hear us. But nobody hears us, they never do. I laugh, loudly. 

 

“It’s so hard to keep up, you’re so fast.” Another laugh. I never smile around him, this boy who stole my eyes, my father, my family,  _ my name _ . I can’t help but smile now. I’m so fast because I’ve had to run my whole life. I’ve had to run from my own disgrace of a mother, but not anymore. I slow down. He catches up, panting as he struggles along. 

 

We near my spot, the spot I discovered days ago when I was in the woods. That’s the place I love best. A clearing, then a cliff. Under the cliff are broken jagged rocks, like teeth in some abused, painful, beautiful mouth. The plan is in my mind, I’m sweating despite the chill. 

 

“This is it?” He asks, as if this weren’t enough. If only he knew maybe he wouldn’t be so eager to follow me. I’d give anything to slice his throat. To cut those fat ripe cheeks from his face. I’d pay any amount of money or gold or blood to remove his eyes, one by one and squash those blue orbs between my teeth. 

 

He’s caused me so much pain from the moment he existed, and now what do I have? Two mothers who want nothing to do with me. A father who has the perfect son. I have nothing. Not even my rightful last name. I have a fucking bastard name because of  _ him _ .   I’m a shunned shameful secret they have to store in some closet. 

 

We near the cliff.  I point down at the rocks, the river icy and cold.He marvels at the distance and gods know what else. He’s leaning like he wants to steal my fun for himself. If he jumped or fell or slipped I’d scream until my throat bled, but he doesn’t.  I had just wanted to push him, a hand to the lower back and if the fall didn’t kill him the water would.

 

I could picture in my mind his open eyes, the surprise and fear forming a mask over his features. The sound of skull hitting rock...or ice. The crack as the ice split and the water swallowed him whole. There are people who actually believe that there are gods that live in the deepest portions of the water. Apparently if you’re worth you can spend eternity with them under the currents. I don’t care where he goes as long as it’s far away from my life.

 

Then I had an idea, I say his name, using that voice that I’ve perfected over the years. The one that means, “Oh I do love you,  _ but you are in so much trouble _ .” He turns to face me like the stupid cunt he is. Those fucking eyes, staring at me. My eyes. But not. His eyes are warm somehow. A blue that’s should be as cold as ice, but warmth is hidden somewhere underneath. I can’t look at them anymore. 

 

He can’t fight me off when I wrap my hands around his neck. That fat fucking meaty neck is so throbbing and warm - so am I. For the first real time I can feel myself harding in my pants, as I squeeze his throat. He tries to talk at first, so my fingers constrict like snakes around him. It’s like my fingers are wrapped around my aching cock, pulsing under my digits. 

 

He tries to scream, but he hasn’t got any air. My head is swimming as I’m sure his is, waves of pleasure wash over me watching those blue eyes bulge out. I can’t help but sigh and he wheezes beneath my steady grasp. His fingers come up from their useless post at his sides to claw at my hands, my wrists, my arms.  Nothing works, brother. If anything it makes me even harder, begging for release the way his lungs must be screaming for air.

 

I crush and crush, enjoying every second. His face going red, then blue and finally a sick shade of purple. Red has always been my favorite color, but this darkening purple is a close second. His mouth flopping open and shut uselessly, and I’d love to ram my cock into the closing windpipe. Alas, I can’t get my pants open when both hands are stuck to his neck. 

 

Bloody arms, wrists with rivers of blood and fingers missing chunks of skin before his hands fall to my chest, then down entirely. His last word might have been something like “please” but when your lungs are burning inside you like the wicks of candles it’s hard to make out begging. His eyes are begging, and when I finally see the redness surround the blue I know it’s almost done. 

 

Never before have I come. Lazy hands occasionally strayed late at night, but to no true avail. This is something unlike anything I’ve ever felt. When I finally feel the end of the fight, the way his body becomes spineless I know I’m close. His light in his eyes still on mine flicker and fade and I come. Hard enough that I let go and fall to the other side of the lifeless body. 

 

If anybody were watching they’d see two lifeless bodies lying in the snow. I get up as soon as I feel like  I can. When the ache in my gut vanishes, when my balls are spent, when I’m done. I admire my work, the way the area between his face and his chest are blue, purple, yellow. The red wounds in perfect miniature semi circles. Those wide eyes still looking at me, I can feel myself getting hard again. Feeling my cock spring to life for a second time and this time I inch one nervous, ice cold hand into my underwear to find myself soaked in my own come. It takes even less time the second time around. A few quick strokes and I’m nearly there. 

 

I pull him by his hair off the cliff, pushing and shoving and watching that bloated body tumble towards the rocks and the ice. When he lands I can see the remains of warm blood leave his body via a new gaping wound on his face, staining the snow around him red. 

 

To make the act perfect I rush down the cliff after him, screaming in case anyone can hear my voice although it’s doubtful. I land at my knees, screaming, holding him as if I care. My blood mixing with his. Blood brothers even in death. 

 

When I rush home I burst in screaming and crying, raving mad. I could win a fucking Oscar. When I lead  ** my ** father to the body, what’s left of the real bastard, he screams. I cry, we rush the body to the house. I tell him we were playing, he slipped on the ice. 

 

It was my best performance to date. Every time I have the most wonderful dreams of that day I wake up harder than I can imagine. 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this was a bit dark. I also really loved writing it. Things are starting to get graphic so hold on tight ladies and gents. :)


	10. Ramsay Snow III

Years passed for a young Ramsay Snow. Snow _ still _ _._ Ramsay began to actually fear - that disgusting monster that wrapped it’s greedy claws into his chest and pulled, that he would always be Snow. Never the Bolton he deserved to be. He had passed every test. He was an only child now. Yet his name remained unchanged. 

 

Days ticked by and children talked like old women at the salon. Snow was now a murderer. He killed his brother. Ramsay never knew how they found out. It was all speculation as far as he knew. He had been careful, but every night for months he woke up with a throbbing hard on before dawn and the image of his half brother’s demise on the inside of his eye lids. 

 

Everyone made a wide berth for him, even his former friends. People who were comfortable beating children to a pulp were surprisingly uncomfortable killing said children. The thought of the leader of the small group actually taking a life was too much for them. 

 

He became a loner more than ever. His father didn’t ring him again. And everything stayed fine until he turned fourteen. 

 

Theon arrived in a swirl of rain and mud and noise. Fifteen and popular as soon as he walked in the door Ramsay watched with his icy eyes. Somewhere amid the confusion and new found loyalties Ramsay didn’t even see Theon watching him back. Somehow the two would lock eyes between classes. Theon never spoke to Ramsay, not publicly and Ramsay had almost become mute. His voice only used when he was forced into speaking. 

 

His intimidation was slowly fading. He was fading. He wasn’t even sure if he minded all that much. The threats still hung in the air but he knew kids were gossiping behind his back. Nothing mattered really if he was just going to be left here to rot. He could be the scariest monster in all the land but it would do him no good, he’d still be a scary  _ Snow _ . 

  
  
  


X

  
  
  
  


Ramsay hadn’t known but it had become almost an initiation of a certain popular group of kids to poke the dangerous beast that lurked within the halls beside them. To a select few, the few who were idols among others, they had to pass the test. 

 

Talk to Ramsay Snow. Bump his shoulder. Touch his hand. The more daring you got with “poking the beast” the higher your ranking. It was all a game really. His withdrawal from the world just made the game that much harder. The bravest boy, some Targaryen boy had actually asked Ramsay for a pen. Ramsay glared and silently denied the boy, but his job was done. He had looked for the briefest second into those almost purple eyes and then looked away. For that the little shit was the leader of the group for a few short weeks. Until Theon came. 

 

Something about Theon made Ramsay pay attention. Something about the mess he made everywhere he went. There was something wrapped up in the noises that followed him in the halls.  Something existed underneath the everyday skin the new boy wore. Some kind of desperation oozed from him that only Ramsay could sense. It peaked his interest enough for him to make the fatal flaw of letting his guard down for once.

 

 

 


	11. Initation

Theon had a plan. A terrible perfect plan. Some kids had been tormenting him about his initiation. He would teach them all a thing or two about just how close he could get to this so called monster. The beast to him was just a little boy, with dark curly hair and wide blue eyes the color of a frozen river. He never even spoke, just watched with those eyes. He’d never heard a word from the kid. The beast in human skin was little more than a former title in Theon’s mind. 

 

It was a cold rainy October night. Theon’s plans were going to be set into motion. He had just purchased two small white tablets that he was currently crushing into a cheap bottle of beer. He didn’t know what the kid would like, but figured he would want to look cool - or at least attempt to look tough. Wine was out of the question, and hard liquor was just too much of a guess. If he wasted his ketamine laced E on something like rum and then be rejected he’d be stuck in a tight spot. This needed to work. 

 

Just before nine he left his dorm with a backpack full of half tainted beer and a smile on his face. 

 

“I’ll leave my mark on the beast if you know what I mean.” He taunted the other boys, who jeered loudly and clapped as if Theon was off to slay some dragon.

 

After a ten minute walk and he found the “ N - T” dorms.  Ramsay was alone reading something and lying on his bed. Theon approached cautiously  as if the kid was some kind of rabid dog. 

 

“Hey,”

 

Ramsay barely looked up. His head may have twitched but it was impossible to tell in the dim light. Theon was hopeful as ever, his voice chipper despite the snub. 

 

“I wanna ask if you’d like have a few beers, maybe talk a bit. You’re not that talkative are you?” Ramsay did look up at that one.It was the strangest thing he’d heard in months. The most unique thing he’d heard. Nobody talked to him like he was a person. People talked to him with reverence and some sort of self protection, if they talked at all.  His eyes cold and unchanging as he measured Theon’s face. Theon felt the beginnings of sweat form on his brow. Watching those eyes watch him; now he could really see why some people thought of him as some kind of otherworldly monster. It felt like he was stripping him down, past the clothes and the skin - all the way down past muscle and organ to the sick bone white fragments holding him together. 

 

Finally after what seemed like at least four years Ramsay surprised everyone, including himself by standing up. Those eyes didn’t blink or flinch, he just gave one quick nod. 

 

“Well, we can’t stay here. Don’t know about these guys” he threw a careful glance over his shoulder at the few boys milling around their beds, “but you know they crack down on  contraband. ” Theon laughed his warmest, throaty laugh that could get woman naked in seconds. If it had those kinds of powers he prayed it would crack the ice just a bit. 

 

“Okay.” His voice was deeper than Theon thought it would be. There was power hiding behind his speech.  He could tell that this boy could have control over others. It just wouldn’t work on him. He wouldn’t succumb to the monster, but he would make the monster bend to him. 

 

Theon led him down the hallway to an unused section of the school. Old bedrooms, closets and classrooms decorated the abandoned corridor demonstrating how ancient they were simply through placement, let alone contents of the rooms. Ramsay allowed himself to be led by Theon into an old laboratory with  three long tables cutting through the center of the room. 

 

Sitting himself down on top of the table Theon shrugged out of his  backpack’s straps, letting the heavy bag gently down behind him. 

 

“These - “ He unzipped the bag and produced two bottles of beer from his bag, unscrewing the caps quickly ,he was hoping the younger boy wouldn’t notice the loosened lid. “ Are for us. One for me, one for you. Cheers, mate.” Ramsay took a bottle and sat down on the table opposite Theon, watching as he chugged half of his drink in one long pull. 

 

Ramsay finally put the bottle to his lips and drank. 


	12. There's a Bad Moon on the Rise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up guys, this isn't going to end well.

 

 

It didn’t take much before Ramsay, for once, lost his entire sense of self. He’d never been drugged before in his life. He’d never even been drunk really. He had tried to stay away from mostly any kind of alcohol, distancing himself from his mother if possible.  He knew this was something terrible, much worse than a beer on an empty stomach. He knew he had walked into a trap just as it was too late and the jaws closed around him swallowing him into the strangest nightmare he’d ever lived through.

He was sitting on the table, then he felt he just had to lay down. It felt like a million pounds of bricks had simply found a new home inside his chest, pressing him towards Earth. He started talking. He started fucking giggling. The world was spinning and so fucking bright. Somebody had to have taken some kind of neon marker to the walls in the time between drink one and drink two. He felt disgusting and touchy and he felt like he was on fire. This burning was consuming him and for a second he thought somebody had thrown gasoline in this room and struck a match. Then he felt that burning hot breath on his face.

“ _Snow_.” The way he said it made Ramsay was to pull out the switchblade he’d been keeping in his back pocket and slice the smile off Theon’s face, but he was pinned to the table. Sickly sweet breath tickled his face and before he could say anything, some kind of loud monstrous laugh came exploding from him. He couldn’t move his arm, couldn’t move his eyes, couldn’t even move his lungs. He was terrified and amazed. The strangest colors were floating through his vision before he silenced himself. He could see his hand moving in the air, but he couldn’t really control it. He couldn’t even feel it. It looked sluggish, like some miniature blimp floating through the dark.

Then there was a hand on his forehead, brushing the dark, damp hair away from his face, a gentle touch that for a second soothed the fire burning inside him. His lungs inflated and deflated before the fire tore through his chest, spreading all over him as Theon appeared on the table like a magic trick.  That was the best word he could think of - appeared. The delicious fire ate away, sending shivers throughout his entire body.

“What _are_ you Snow?” He whispered, his mouth inches away from Ramsay’s paralyzed face. His captor. His jailer. The person who was doing this. His mouth was achingly dry as the fire gutted him from inside out. He could only see the vast pink expanse of lips, the shining white graveyard of teeth - lined perfectly in his mouth. If he could reach he would ram his fist into the planet threatening to consume him whole. He tried to scream, loudly and angrily but what came out was another peal of hysterical laughter. He thought of his hand down the throat above him.

Theon’s hands were on either side of his face as he realized Theon was _on top of him_ . He was burning alive and this drunk boy didn’t care. Theon. Theon. Theon fucking Greyjoy. His mind thought the words over and over again like a prayer. _His_ breath graced his face time and time again as he just watched, horror overtaking the immobilized body  finally when he realized what Theon was doing. He felt thin fingers wrapping themselves around his belt loops, tugging his pants away.  

Just like that Ramsay was down to his underwear. One thin layer of fabric protected him. He finally managed to squirm an inch but to no avail. If only one muscle could work in his body then he would be free. If he had to run half naked from the room, if his voice would cooperate, if his hands could just reach up and wrap themselves around that slender pale neck… then Theon was back on top of him, breathing into his face. Horrified he realized he was hard. If blood could rush to his face it would have. He tried to stop, to plead, to beg. He was that low, if only he could form the fucking pleas. He had literally no idea what was going on, the room swimming around him.  

Ramsay strained every inch of his body into his hand. He could see in his mind his fist connecting with the body above him. Instead his body betrayed him and his useless fingers wrapped themselves lazily in curly hair.

“ _Ohh_ just look at this. You’re not a little monster. You’re just a little horny fucking bastard.” Theon chuckled running his hand down the front of Ramsay’s tenting boxers. Fuck you, was what Ramsay opened his mouth to say, instead he could only release harsh choking sounds. His muscles tensed as Theon removed that last shred of hope he had. The fever consumed him as his eyes watered. His hand dropped to his side.

“Do you know what they call this little Snow? All these boys, all these Lannisters and Freys and Karstarks and who fucking cares whatever else they are, they think you’re a little monster. They think you’re the fucking devil on Earth. What would they do to see you now...just squirming for me to touch you. I bet _nobody_ touches you. They call this poking the beast.” Ramsay felt a hardness against his leg, icy cold skin soothing him even as he wished he could recoil. His tongue lay useless on the bottom of his mouth.

“Oh I think I’m going to poke the beast tonight - I think the beast might just enjoy it a bit too much.”

His teeth sunk into Ramsay’s neck, the skin raw in seconds as the warm cooper taste filled Theon’s mouth. He pulled away, and all Ramsay could see was this hideous thing on top of him, this thing spotted with his own blood, this thing he thought he had always been. Now he was a victim and his mind screamed and roared. How did this happen. How could he let this useless little boy take him?

Then he did something unthinkable. His captor lowered his face down, down, down until Ramsay couldn’t make out the features. This person could be anyone, Ramsay could forget. Then he felt lips on his, and he realized he could never forget who was doing this. The strangely intimate gesture left him both gasping for air and forcing himself not to vomit. Acid burned the back of his mouth even as he tasted salt and earth and the beach on this other boy’s mouth. Everything about it screamed wrong. The taste of sand and salt would seem to lingered in his mouth for the rest of his life.

When Theon finally pushed his hard cock into Ramsay, dry mind you - there was nothing left. The fire was all consuming as the older boy manhandled his prisoner under him. No longer a monster, beast, or threat. Just a boy stuck to a table top, drugged beyond movement and the fight gone from his eyes. Those icy eyes with irises as large as crop circles.  He screamed, a low guttural cry once that was cut short with a blow to the face. It seemed too much for Theon to bear, he dug his nails into the shoulder beneath him - unaware it was a person anymore. Teeth and nails tore into the tender flesh. He pushed his face into the boys ear and whispered his own chant.

“ _Snow, snow, snow_ , _snow_.” Over and over again until he almost felt the tightening of muscles under him.  Ramsay couldn’t even hear him, he was somewhere far off, thinking “ _Theon, Theon, Theon, Theon Greyjoy. I’m going to kill Theon Greyjoy. I’m going to kill Theon Greyjoy. Greyjoy_.” His thoughts muddled and mixed up with blood and gore and release at the very  thought of slicing the skin off this disgusting creature’s back.

When Theon was finally finished he got up as if nothing had happened. Ramsay could just start to feel the twitch in his fingertips, it would be another sixty minutes before his legs would be able to carry him back to his room. As he was laying there, just beginning to feel the blood pooling around his ass, the way his cheek felt swollen, the fever dying down, the way his neck screamed in agony he wondered if that was some sick show of love. Who did Theon love? Himself? Ramsay? Those boys he was out so desperately to please?

And as he eased himself finally off the table and inched his way down the darkened hallways, trying in vain to not clutch his aching stomach, he promised he would show Theon just what _love_ could do to a person one day.

 

 

 


	13. Best Served Cold

After a few weeks they found a groove to life. Theon was desperately trying to cut down on the alcohol. At least twice a week however he had nights where he could remember nothing and would wake up clutching the basement’s toilet like it was a life preserver and he was drowning. He would ache and pain and feel like he was dying. Sometimes he could remember pieces of the night before. Sometimes he could remember nothing from lunch on. Whenever he would wake up with bruises exploding under his skin and wounds on his back he would ignore them. At first he was curious. Then he was terrified of the answers.

 

Ramsay never talked about it so, being  a good and somewhat ashamed guest, Theon wouldn’t ask.

 

The dynamic had changed somehow. The first few weeks they seemed like friends, room mates. Now it was morphing into something else entirely. Theon thought about moving out several times, but it just didn’t happen. Every job he applied to hadn’t called him back, hadn’t liked his interview, hadn’t worked out.  He worked at a grocer for a brief time. About forty hours after his hire date he was dismissed. The grounds were that a customer complained about him. He didn’t believe it for a minute.

 

Ramsay was never disappointed when Theon would come back  to the sprawling house defeated and depressed. He would take a cab with borrowed money from the city to the outskirts where he lived. Ramsay would lend him the credit card. Theon was penniless. Emails written to his sister told nothing about his money situation, how dire things were getting, how broke he really was.  Whether he liked it or not he needed Ramsay now, he couldn’t imagine what life would be like without the same steady structure to come back to after so many wasted hours. Ramsay would be home to greet him, sometimes he’d have food on the table, other times Theon was expected to make something. Either way Theon was just happy he was being fed.

 

The hole had been dug far too deep beneath his feet before he realized that he was the one holding the shovel. There was no getting out at this point. He owed too much money,  too much time, too much everything.  He was trapped.

 

After some time he slowed the job search. Then it finally faded to nothing at all. He would just stay at home and sit in his room, playing on the computer and feeling a bit bad but the guilt was overwhelmed with boredom as well. He would hear Ramsay’s footsteps about him, walking around the house if he was home. Sometimes he’d had his friends over and occasionally Theon would actually bother showering and coming upstairs to meet them, more often than not he just stayed hidden in the basement or slide past them in a vain attempt to get to the liquor cabinet invisibly.

 

The only person who actually ever bothered him was one of Ramsay’s friends, a guy named Damon.  Theon would come upstairs to the boys - at least that’s what Ramsay called the fully grown men he played host to, often drinking and arguing around the rarely used dining room table. Theon would stride past the table on his way to the kitchen to get himself another beer, or some leftovers from dinner when Damon would just leer at him. Sometimes he would hear insults or catcalls or whatever else that prick decided to do or say. More than a few times when he hadn’t bothered to shower in a few days he desperately tried to pass by quickly and was met with names.

 

“God fucking damn it,  you reek.” Damon proclaimed one night. After that Theon was only called Reek by the boys no matter how often he showered. It just stuck to him. Once Theon even had his ass grabbed.

 

When he brought this up to Ramsay was when things changed.

 

They had the first fight they’d ever had. Theon usually had been quiet about most things. It was Ramsay’s house so who was he to tell him how to run things. This was something he couldn’t stand. He wasn’t interested. He approached Ramsay after dinner one cold snowy night, who rarely watched TV but was relaxing on the couch channel surfing that night.

 

“I’d really appreciate it if Damon didn’t come around here as much, or if you can just talk to him…” Ramsay didn’t even look up. He shrugged as if to say who cares and no at the same time. His indifference was infuriating. He stood next to the couch, watching Ramsay’s fingers press the buttons on the remote with more attention that what his friends were doing.

 

“He’s been fucking calling me names, grabbing me, and I’ve told him to quit it but he just keeps going on and doing it and now _everybody’s_ calling me fucking Reek - “

 

“Well maybe if you showered more it wouldn’t be a problem.” Ramsay cut him off and Theon’s mouth closed. His eyes grew wide.

 

“I do fucking shower. He don’t even care, he just does what he wants and I’m sick of it.”

 

“You sound like a child. Can’t you just get over it?” Ramsay mused, still uninterested and lounging on the sofa like it was a throne.

 

“Not if he’s being a fucking bastard.” Before he even knew what had happened he felt the burning on his face, the stinging in his cheek. Ramsay stood before him, seemingly growing larger before Theon’s very disbelieving eyes.

 

“You...you hit me…” He could only stammer. He’d been hit before, plenty of fake fights with friends and real fights during his drunken moments. Girls slapped him once or twice when he said something terribly cheeky to them. This was different.

 

“I swear to god, if you say that word again I’ll do worse things than fucking slap you. Do you understand me?”

 

“No I don’t fucking understand you. It’s a word. Besides Damon has no right to do that to me. He’s being disgusting.”

 

“You have no right to say anything about my boys when all you do is sit in my basement, eat my food, use my power, leech off me and be such an ungrateful brat that you tell me what to do with my own friends.” Theon crossed his arms, sulking and pouting even as the red mark grew larger on his face.

 

“I’m trying.”

 

It was the wrong thing to say.

 

“If you’re trying so goddamn hard I don’t see it.” Ramsay’s voice shrank as he approached Theon, striding towards him with purpose. Ice dripped from his words like venom. Theon braced himself for another slap, feeling the itch in his hand to fight back if another blow was thrown, instead he felt fingers grab his scalp. Nails digging into his head, his hair wrapped around the other man’s hand. It didn’t take much to drag Theon along, pulling his hair towards the back door.

 

Theon was utterly unprepared for this assault and felt his legs struggling to keep up with his head, his own arms pulling at his locks trying to free himself before digging into the meat of Ramsay’s upper arm. Yelping at the sharp tugging he was yanked out the now open back door and into the freezing cold, dark night.

 

“Now maybe you can whine about something worth whining about.” Ramsay scowled slamming the door shut as Theon, barefoot and already shivering struggled on the icy back steps. He heard the locks turn and click shut as he slammed himself into the door, desperate to come back in, his feet spinning under him wildly like some child’s cartoon.

 

In just sweat pants and an over-sized tee shirt he panicked. Snow swirling around him he pounded on the back door. Screams fell on deaf ears.

 

For a second Theon had the wild thought of walking away, to another house, to the main road, to a gas station or a bar or anywhere at all that was indoors. He could push his feet forward until he got somewhere, anywhere with power, heat, and working phone lines. He would call his father. It’d been just over a year since he’d spoken to him but he would have to listen. He was freezing to death.

 

The dream died in the dark, cold air. God knows just how far away they were from anyone. His feet would physically fall off in the snow before he made his way to anyone that would care. It was at least a ten minute drive off the main road, and at least twenty minutes from another house. Walking would more than double that time. Theon didn’t know how long it took for a person to freeze to death, but figured frostbite would kick in a few barefooted steps into the building white piles of snow around him.

 

Wind whipped angrily at him as he thought of the options. The front door was always locked. To get into the garage he needed to code - which Ramsay changed once a week and frequently forgot to tell Theon about. There was no spare key under a fake rock, or above the threshold. There were no open windows. Ramsay, ever paranoid and protective, kept all windows and doors locked unless they were being physically used in that moment.

 

There was only one door that was open. Theon only saw one option.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everybody for the feedback! Life is starting to get a bit crazy for me right now so I'll update as much as I can. Comments are always appreciated!


	14. RE: No, really, this is a good one.

RE: No, really, this is a good one. 

To : Dance4Me@yahoo.com

From : RABolton@gmail.com

  
  


Seriously, part of me wanted to wait til you guys actually came over to tell you in person. This story is just too good. He was acting like a little bitch all night, saying you  were bothering him. As if I care. I mean I would rather you  ** not ** do it you know, since if somebody wants to fuck with this little bitch’s mind it should be me. I’ve been working on him for months. Trust me, it's starting to sink in. Honestly, it’s like you guys don’t know me at all. Really though listen to this because it’s great. 

 

So that night it was snowing terribly, well I kicked him out. He was bitching and moaning so much I couldn’t hear myself think. Then he bitched some more and I hit him. I mean I’ve hit him before but he never remembers it and he’s never asked me. So I just slapped him right across his pathetic face. You should've seen him. Next time you guys are over I’ll do it again, he just looks so surprised like nobody’s ever hit him before. 

 

So he’s bitching and whining and I think he’s going to start crying so I grab his hair and toss him out on his ass. He wasn’t even wearing shoes. 

 

It’s probably like 10 at night. And I just lock the door behind him. Honestly I don’t know what I thought he was going to do. So I just walk back into the kitchen, clean up the rest of the dishes he left out for me. I’m pissed at this point. Then I just go into my room and read for a bit. He’s still out there screaming and whining. Then he stopped. He just stopped and I had no idea why. Maybe he passed out? I decided to give him another hour, if he lost a fucking toe to frost bite I wouldn’t give a shit either way. So I’m in my room, just waiting and thinking then about sixty minutes goes by and I look out the window and he’s gone. GONE. 

 

I’m just thinking where the hell is he going to go? So I go to the front of the house thinking this little idiot is knocking on the garage door or something. He thinks I changed the code but it’s been the same for weeks and I just never told him so he just assumes he can’t get in.Literally he's that stupid.   


 

Well he’s not out front. He’s not on any side of the house. He’s just gone. So I put on my coat and my shoes and get all dressed up to go looking for this little shit who’s wandered off somewhere, I'm thinking he's like running in the woods like a fucking loon. I go out the back and there are these perfect little footprints in the snow. So I follow them and where do they go?   

 

He’s in my kennel cuddled up with the girls. There’s Kyra licking his face like it’s the best thing and he’s just shivering and laying underneath her like she’s trying to eat and mount him at the same time. Her. Mounting him. I swear I almost pissed myself laughing. He’s passed out. So I figure if I leave him out much longer he’d probably turn into a icicle and that’s no fun.I don't want him _dead._ Well not like stopped heartbeat dead.  


 

So I had to wake him up and he’s shaking so bad I thought he was going to fall over. I run back in the house and get him some boots and we walk back to the house and he’s crying. Downright weeping. He’s saying he’s sorry. That you can come and stay whenever I want. I had to use every inch of my body not to laugh like a maniac. It was just that funny. His face wouldn’t even hold still. 

 

So I played the good guy. I brought him inside and gave him a ton of blankets and the heating blanket out the spare room. I made him some tea in the keurig. He’s whimpering and bawling all over himself. He drank two sips of tea and passed out on the couch. 

 

He hasn’t lost any body parts, at least I think they’re all there. I just had to tell you because it’s fresh in my mind and I can’t stop laughing. Thought you’d like it. If you wanna send it to the boys then go for it. I’ll see you on Friday. 

  
  


 


	15. Ramsay Bolton

 

 

Theon left Harrenhal in a similar manner to how he arrived, suddenly and with a lot of fanfare. Ramsay both could care less and cared quite a bit. There would be no perfect comeback. No murder in the middle of the night. Now he wouldn’t see the face that had taken his power from him, but he also wouldn’t be able to hurt him. Being patient had become one of Ramsay’s best skills, something perfected over the years. He waited for his name, waited for freedom, now he would wait for revenge. 

 

Some midnight run in with trouble sent the older boy packing off to somewhere - anywhere else. A few people mourned his speedy departure, but most just thought he was strange and didn’t miss him much. It didn’t stop word from spreading about late night trysts with boys and girls and drugs and drinks and gods know what else. 

 

Ramsay himself didn’t last much longer. Before the marks on his chest from nails dug too deep could fade, he received his last phone call. The only thing he thought about more than Theon Fucking Greyjoy was his father. If his father hadn’t abandoned him in this shit hole this would have never happened. That’s why the phone call was so unexpected.

 

“Son, I need to talk to you.” 

 

Three weeks later Ramsay was out of the school. He was brought to the now mostly empty house he had only visited once. “Mrs. Bolton.” had been committed shortly after Ramsay’s return to Harrenhal, and of course her only real son’s early demise. When she finally got out of the hospital she had come home, taken a nice long bath, and promptly slit both wrists up to her elbows. 

 

Alone, wifeless, childless - Roose Bolton called his only remaining family. Ramsay was thrilled. Parts of him, rather large parts if the truth were told, still wanted Theon dead, despite this victory that could take him so far away from any of the filth that he related to the Greyjoy name. It was very probable that the two would never meet again unless one actively went searching for the other, and Ramsay was in no hurry to return to a life he thought he had put behind him.  

 

At first Ramsay Bolton - not Snow, not anymore, was content to just exist inside his father’s massive shadow. All the proper papers had been signed, every T crossed and every I dotted to make him his father’s only heir. For a while his life was just following. Putting his own feet into those huge prints always one step ahead of him. Observing what life would be one day. Days filled with company oriented tasks, nights of being so tired and absolutely drained that he could collapse into his bed and melt into the blackness without a second thought.  


 

Then the dreams, always sharp and painful came back. There were good ones , ones where he could drain the life from his brother again and again. There were bad ones, ones where he would lay supine and lifeless under a heavy body heaving against him in a darkened laboratory. Then there were amazing dreams.  Dreams were he would wrap his fingers around Theon’s neck. He would lick the coppery pearls of red that ran down  _ Theon’s _ chest. He would feel joints pop under his agile fingers. 

  
He would wake up, feeling hard and ready. Feeling the ache in his stomach. The ache in his throat. He would stand and walk around the room, pacing his newly found fortress of a bedroom, naked and seething. Sometimes he would run his knife up and down his arm, gently at first then just enough to draw blood. Sometimes he would lay back in bed and let his fingers wander down to wrap around his aching cock. He still felt that burning from that night. No matter how much distance he put between himself and that night he could never forget the fever that came over him every time he thought about laying with his back on the cool table and his whole body engulfed in flame. 

 

 


	16. Downright Domestic

 

Although it seemed like an uphill battle to get to the summit, once the peak was reached they were racing downhill towards oblivion at a breakneck speed. After that first dispute everything turned on it’s heels. Suddenly tension filled every available inch of the house. Theon crept around on tip toes. He wasn’t afraid of fighting, he could fight back, he could defend himself if he could just see the fury coming. That was part of the terrifying thing, Ramsay's fury was unforgiving and sudden. Ramsay hated the beach, but Theon could only begin to think of him as a storm on the shore - a great black cloud that appeared, ruined everything before it then vanished into the blue. The worst, the thing that  kept Theon on his toes from the unspoken threat of being kicked out. That was just something he couldn’t deal with. After months of dependence and increasing debt there was just no way he could survive out there. 

 

The boys came around with increasing frequency if only to spite him - yet he said nothing. There was nothing left to say. After that one night it became apparent that he could be easily thrown to the wolves. The girls were the only reason his toes hadn’t turned black that night. He wasn't going to let a prick like Damon run what had become his home, his life.   


 

It didn’t take long until Ramsay approached him, his eyes sparkling manically.  

 

“Do you remember when I said I would find some use for you.” 

 

Theon could only nod, as a list full of chores and duties was presented to him like some kind of peace offering.  _ Do these, it’ll make me happy for a while. _ That was the unspoken sentiments. What else could he do? 

 

It worked for a while, surprisingly. Debt is a funny thing though, and even though there was a calm before the storm attitude with every passing day nearing some great shipwreck, Theon just could not leave.  Each day he would wake up, feeling like today would be the day. This would be it. It was tearing him apart. This just wasn’t him, sneaking sips of vodka to steady his nerves as he dusted the house, painted the walls, cleaned the carpets, took care of the dogs, made dinner, rather poorly, until Ramsay refused to eat anything else Theon prepared for fear of food poisoning.  

 

"Are you trying to kill me, or is this accidental?" Ramsay would spit out half raw chicken cutlets and storm upstairs to lock himself away. Theon could only grin and devour whatever he could microwave.

 

His rebellion came in small doses that nobody could notice. A book out of place after dusting the bookshelf. A spot of carpet in the office he just refused to get. The place behind the upstairs toilet he didn't scrub. Regardless the duties took their toll over time.   


 

Theon was feeling downright domestic when Ramsay brought home  _ the chair. _

 

Ramsay could spend hours looking through old antique stores, expanding his collection of ancient torture devices.  This was different. It was delivered while Theon was cleaning the rug in the front room. He looked up, walked over to the window and inspected the men hauling this old metal beast. He shook his head and sighed watching Ramsay rush outside to take charge of the delivery.   


 

It was some kind of ancient dentist’s chair. All rust and ripped upholstery. It looked painful. Leaning on the window pane he watched Ramsay directing the process, bringing the chair into the house. Making himself scarce, but still disgustingly curious Theon crept after them, but when they descended downstairs - into _his_ room, he couldn’t follow. Ramsay was there, waiting in the stairs blocking the path. He turned his head and shot one of those frozen glares and Theon tilted his head and returned to his carpet cleaning.   


 

At dinner Ramsay told him it was time for him to move out of the basement and into a spare room. The basement could be put to better use.  Anything that Theon didn’t want thrown out was to be removed by the next morning and put in his new room, an even smaller room on the first floor that contained a single bed and about enough room for a dresser. Even so, with little more than a scowl Theon brought every belonging he could from the basement into this new room, making use of every inch until the cluttered mess made him feel dizzy. 

 

For weeks after the move Theon would lay in his bed, no longer drunk enough to forget anything but just tipsy enough to stop the constant rotation of the world around him.  Ramsay would disappear down the basement steps every chance he had. Every night after dinner the noise would start. Theon could hear pounding and clanging in the basement, drifting up into his room all night, every night. He would lay there, closing his eyes, trying so hard to block out the noise that his head would ache. Pillows over the ears did nothing. Headphones lead to little more than a splitting migraine when he woke up with music blasting in his ears. After a few tries he would simply grit his teeth and try to bear it. Some nights the noise wouldn't stop until light peaked through the curtains.   


  
Then one night there was no more noise. No more metallic music invading his slumber.  Good or bad he knew the next day he would find out. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are about to get....interesting.


	17. A Perfect Storm

 

 

Before I could even crack my eyes open I heard them. The boys. Those fucking assholes. Ramsay was probably in the living room with them, laughing and bitching about gods know what. Honestly I have no idea what they even have in common, other than the fact they all work for his father. I thought that this was going to be just like every day for the past few weeks. I thought I’d wake up, clean up a bit, make some lunch, dinner, whatever. I had no idea what everyone was so excited about. 

 

Probably had some idea floating through their minds about a way to humiliate me again. So I just pull on my sweatpants and creep downstairs, being so careful not to make too much noise. Ramsay’s been in a foul mood lately and if he’s actually not being a bastard today then I may as well not ruin everything. The loud laughter - as much as it bothered me, gave me a bit of hope. This wasn’t evil cackling, this was just somebody cracking some jokes and everyone howling along. 

 

Inching towards the kitchen I’m thinking if I can just grab a bowl and some cereal I can have breakfast back in my room or on the steps or outside while I’m feeding the girls but when I turned the corner turns out everybody was just there - in the kitchen. It’s like they were waiting for me. The laughter died when I stepped through the threshold a second too late to turn back. 

 

I always thought these guys looked like massive creeps, they’ve never given me any indication that they’re even half decent people. Literally there’s like a wall of sideshow freaks standing blocking my way to the cabinets and right there front and center conducting this freakshow is Ramsay, just looking at me like I’m going to join this massive impromptu kitchen party. 

 

I start sweating, I couldn’t help it. All those eyes on me, just staring at me it’s awful.  I felt like may as well be on stage with a spotlight pointing at me the way everybody shut up and is glaring at me. I used to love that kind of attention, I still might if it was the right people. This was not the time, place or the right people. Not by any means.

 

Ramsay’s the worst though, he’s just looking at me, like he hates me. It only lasted for about two seconds before he  gets this big ass grin on his face, like I’ve just told the most brilliant punchline in the world. 

 

“I see you’ve decided to grace us with your presence.” 

 

I just nodded because honestly there’s not a lot I can say when he words things like that. Do I say yes? He’d take that as me being a smart ass I’m sure. If I say sorry he gets even more upset. Not even upset is the word to use. It’s some kind of disappointed maybe. Who knows what runs through his head. 

 

Damon, god I hate him the most, he’s just licking his lips like he wants to fucking eat me or something. Like Jesus, it’s awful being looked at that way. I guess it makes me feel bad for all the girls I eye-fucked throughout my life. 

 

It would make the most sense  to just back away, so I started to just inch my way out of the kitchen. It was a stupid plan I’ll admit - what was  I just going to pretend like they didn’t see me? That wasn’t going to happen and I knew it before I could even take a step backwards. 

 

“Oh no, no, no. You can’t just leave us now. We all were waiting so patiently for you to join us.” Ramsay walked over to me and just wrapped his arm around my shoulder. Bare skin to bare skin. I’m confused and nervous as hell at this point. I have no idea what’s going on, what I’m expected to do or say or anything. So I’m just standing there looking at all these guys just surrounding me. 

 

“I think we should go downstairs, what do you think boys?” 

 

The cheer was deafening. I hadn’t been allowed downstairs since I’d been booted weeks ago. Honestly I had no idea why, he was doing something with that chair he brought home, but if he was fixing something up I didn’t know why I couldn’t even so much as look at the basement door without him snapping on me. 

 

His arm tightened around my bare shoulder, and I had no other choice really. At this point I knew it was either go downstairs by choice or be carried down like some kind of child. I know I don’t have much anymore but I’d like to keep the little dignity I have left, thank you very much. So I just flashed all my pearly whites and walked towards the basement door like that was my intention the whole time. It was like I really wanted to go down there and see what was going on, but I really wanted nothing to do with this situation all at the same time. So I just marched myself down the steps and held onto the tiny invisible shred of dignity thinking ‘No matter what he does to me, what happens downstairs I have this. I have my pride, I have my dignity.’ 

 

That all changed the second I got downstairs of course. The first time I had to get in the chair it took two of the largest guys in the group to get me strapped down.

  
  
The second time they tried to put me in the chair it took all of them. 

 

 


	18. I Think Like a Verb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Switching POV, (felt like playing around this chapter, starts with Ramsay, then goes to Theon, then back to Ramsay, back and forth until, well...you get the picture. POV shifts are marked with an X).

 

 

I couldn’t take my eyes off him as he walked down the steps. He was first, then me, then the boys. I wanted him unable to leave even if he wanted to, and as soon as I hit the light switch I knew he wanted to. I was at just the right angle to hear that pathetic whimpering sound come out of his mouth. His eyes grew so large I could swear they were about to fall out of his face.

 

His perfect little basement bedroom turned into this disaster, I could tell he was terrified as well he should be. He inched backwards, right into Skinner’s chest.  He was looking frantic trying to just disappear I guess. He knew escape wasn’t an option but maybe vanishing was.

 

“Do you know what this is?”

 

**X**

 

He asked me, pointing to this iron chair, this fucking trap sitting where my bed used to be. My tongue was stuck to the bottom of my mouth like it was super-glued there. I knew it wasn’t good. I also didn’t know exactly what it was so I shook my head hoping he wanted to actually answer that question. His words would give me an answer, whereas mine would cause him to spiral into a rage if I picked the wrong thing to say.  Whoever I was up against was laughing like this was so funny. I guess I was missing the humor of the situation.

 

Three heartbeats later he seemed warm for once when he finally decided to answer me.

 

“Well, see, it started off as an old fashioned dentist’s chair.” He walked over to the chair in the middle of the room and he ran his hand over it like he was actually caressing it. He must be up to date on his shots to not be terrified of the rusted metal poking out here and there.

 

The chair itself was all metal or iron or whatever it has been made of. Something sharp and dangerous and never meant near any human skin. Any cushions that could have provided any comfort were torn out and thrown away - I presumed. Then there were the straps. Wide leather straps roped around both armrests in several places. Wrist, elbow, upper arm. The same straps were around the headrest, footstool, and several places in between.

 

“Then I found it and figured I’d have some fun. It’s perfect for … well games.” He chuckled, displaying his creation like he was the proud game show host.

 

 _Look, Theon. You can win all of this if you guess the following puzzle correctly._ That's what his smile told me. I could tell from his body, the way he was touching the chair like it was some great reward that I was stuck. I had no idea what he wanted from me. At this point I was clueless. Really I was. I never said I was smart, or witty, or incredibly bright.

 

**X**

 

“I don’t imagine much Monopoly gets played in that.” He finally said, his voice was shaking, his eyes were roaming the room like he couldn’t tell what to look at. I’d darkened the room a bit, but left the main light overhead. With everyone behind him, he was stuck to observe the torn wall paper, cinderblock, and hard concrete floor.  He was probably wondering where all his decorations went. The black and golden rug he had no room for, the beige wall paper -all gone like a reverse home improvement. Alyn laughed. I told all the boys that he was really this stupid. They wouldn’t believe me until they’d seen it in person. I’ve seen rabid animals more rational  than he was.

 

I’ve killed more intelligent creatures for less.

 

“Well, not quite that. Want to play something?” I asked coyly. Smiling as best I could. He was really breathtaking standing there, trembling like a leaf and terrified. I think he was about to cry. His eyes get wide and wet and expectant. I think I've seen it a million times by now and I never tire of it. I always have to bite my tongue or else I would burst out in these hysterical giggles. So I just took a deep breath in and out and thought to myself - _I am a Bolton, Boltons do not giggle._ It worked for a time as I narrowed my eyes and looked at Alyn and Skinner, the two larger men standing closest to him.

**X**

 

 _I am a Greyjoy. Greyjoys do not cry._ It worked for a few moments as I stared into those icy eyes, waiting. There was no getting out. I could scream and kick, but I would not be free until I played his game.

 

“Well?” He asked. I nodded my head and wish I never had.

 

**X**

 

Skinner grabbed his left arm, and Alyn grabbed his right. I’m not sure why exactly, but at first he was almost brave. He set his face like a child going to the doctor’s.

As if in some childish way he thought he was being strong. He was more weakness than strength. Weak and desperate for approval he didn’t know he wanted. His feet refused to work so the boys dragged him to the chair and sat him down. It was amusing to say the least to watch them tug at him even thought he wasn't fighting, just existing between their arms. I myself had the pleasure of being the first person to tie those harsh leather restraints around his arms. That’s when he began to really panic. I felt his shaking limbs as I struggled with his legs. I had worked tirelessly on this chair making it perfect. It would be so effortless to immobilize one part of the body.  To hold somebody down and just go to work and they’d be helpless to stop it.

 

**X**

 

When the leather cut into my bare arms I couldn’t breath, it was like he took the air out of me. Ramsay - the ringmaster in this sick game, tightened all the straps until I felt them digging into me like claws. When he finally got to my legs no amount of coaching inside my own mind could keep me safe. My mouth felt as dry as some wasteland, I needed a drink. My body shaking in fear and craving. It was revolting.

 

He looked disgusted as I tried not to shake so much. I have no idea why.  Even now, strapped down to this chair, metal cutting into my bare back, I thought somehow this would all just be some game. See if he can get me to crack in front of his friends or something. Honestly I didn’t even know what was going on. Maybe he would call this all off if I just didn't break down into a million pieces in front of him.

 

Remember, I never said I was smart.

 

**X**

 

When our eyes met I felt that spark I was looking for. That fear, the hurt I knew would come soon enough - it was all there. I craved it, needed it more than I needed oxygen. To hear him scream, taste the salty tears pouring out him, feel his body cringing under my fingers. I’d been waiting so long to be here.

 

I don’t have any idea why he just sat there that first time. He just let me tie him up without moving or fighting or saying a damn word, his mouth shut like he was keeping a secret from me.

 

I have no idea who he was out to impress considering his stance on the people I chose to surround myself with. He sat there and accepted everything. I had his arms, legs and chest tied, deciding to let his head free. I had hoped it would come across as _See, I can be kind._ Even in my own mind that was a joke, at least for now. If I could have sent the boys away in that instant I would have. They were all there for a show and I would have to give it to them of course.

 

**X**

 

“Well boys, let’s start the game, shall we?” The room exploded in claps and cheers. I just chewed my tongue like it was gum. I didn’t feel like talking, didn’t feel like asking what kind of game would come, dreading the answer.

 

“You’ve played truth or dare right? No need to answer, I know you have. This is more like a … challenge. I’m going to ask you a question, then you’re going to answer. If you can’t answer, or you don’t give the correct answer,” He chuckled, “well, you’ll see I’m sure. Oh and if you think about lying to me then you do know I know the right answers. There is no lying.”

 

I nodded, unsure of the rules exactly. What kind of challenge could I possibly complete stuck in this chair.

 

“Questions?”

 

“Am I only the one .. playing?” I swallowed hard, every word an effort in my parched mouth.

 

“Good question, I’ll let you ask me some if you want. Anybody else want to play? Or do we just have observers today?”

 

The room was silent, clearly nobody wanted in on this kind of game, giving me pause for a few moments before Ramsay jumped into his first question.

 

**X**

 

“I’ll give you something easy first. Who is my father?”

 

He swallowed, that slow witted thing. This was a gift, so simple and easy anyone could understand.

 

“Roose Bolton.”

 

“Very good,” I praised him, if it seemed like this was too easy, he’d soon find out the truth. “Your turn”

 

“Why are we doing this?” He wasted no time getting to that question. Very vague as well, and of course I would use that to my advantage.

 

“Because I’m bored.” I sighed, placing my hand in my back pocket, feeling the small lump that rested there. I was bored, bored of the boys eying me and asking about him. Bored to tears of seeing his struggles in my house. Fingering the material covering my favorite toy I turned my attention back to my captive. Eyes a little more at ease now, I could see more questions forming in the mind, struggling in his mouth.

 

“But why - “

 

I cut him off.

 

“Tsk, tsk, it’s not your turn. I’ll let that one go, but if you try to skip a turn then I’ll have to punish you.” His eyes shot back to full sized, his mouth quivered then closed. I bit my tongue hard enough to taste blood just so I would die laughing in that moment.

 

**X**

 

“My turn, this one is a little harder since you’ve clearly understood the concept. Why did you get fired from your last job? If you even want to call it that.”

 

A sore spot. They had claimed customers complained, but I always believed it had more to do with coming in late and always being a bit tipsy. Maybe my naps in the back room. Honestly though I didn’t want to admit all that in front of...everyone. My dry throat ached as I tried to swallow my answer.

 

“I was...complained about, by a customer.” My breathing felt uneasy, watching him watch me. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. I could count until the end of the world came.

 

“Oh, well that is an answer...”

 

_Yes_

 

“But it was not the right answer.”

 

_No._

 

His hand pulled out something I couldn’t even see in the dim basement, it wasn’t until he flipped it open and the light that seemed only pinned on me glittered off the blade that I realized what it was.

 

_Greyjoys do not scream._

 

 

 

 


	19. Double or Nothing.

 

 

The first cut was incredibly superficial. There was blood of course, a trio of ruby red droplets squeezed out between separated flesh.It was like a paper cut on his chest. I was surprised he didn’t scream, or cry, or anything actually. He just whimpered and then he yelled. It surprised everyone in the room. I actually took a step backwards, my mouth must have been gaping.

 

“What the fuck are you doing?” He barked. I could have slit his throat right then and there, the way those words sounded coming out of his mouth. It made me physically sick to think this strapped down pincushion had power over me. Not just now, but ever. He had lost his fear, instead of becoming more afraid after that first small slice. It was like the blood invigorated him, somehow giving him this strength to speak up.

 

I didn’t want to answer him, I just curled my hand into a ball and threw my weight into his face. The chair rocked about an inch, then settled and unable to move he shook his head - hair tumbling into his face. I heard his breath hitch.

 

“You are a liar - Theon. I don’t like liars. If you give me the wrong answer, then you get the repercussions.”  I  took a few shallow breaths, watching his chest heave up and down.

 

He tossed his head back, looking up at me defiantly. As if he had some kind of pride, some kind of power. I could already see a darkening under his left eye. The boys howled like wolves behind me.

 

“Any more questions?”

 

“You can’t just fucking cut me like that. You can’t fucking do that.”

 

I brought the switchblade back to his chest bringing it down in one swift movement. He couldn’t even tell me no before the crimson flowed. Superficial and bloody he gasped like a fish, ogling his newest wound.

 

“I think I just did.”

 

His eyes shot to the boys, as if any of them would help him. They were mine as much as the house was mine, the girls were mine, the cars and the body in front of me - all mine. They would sooner see him crucified than set free.

 

He wouldn’t sink so low as to beg them, and part of me was terribly upset. I wanted to hear him beg and cry and scream and yet he was just yelling how I couldn’t do this.

 

“I think I can do whatever I want to you.” I slapped him, not as hard as the full punch, but hard enough to make him stutter in his yelling. It took a second for him to resume his mantra, this time with his lip split deliciously to one side. Tears of crimson dripped from his oh so slightly quivering lower lip.

 

“This isn’t a game Ramsay. I’m telling you now, no. I don’t want to play.” He said it with authority. As if that counted for anything down here. Weak or brave. Insecure or confident. Strapped down words are wind.

 

“I don’t care.” I shrugged, “what exactly are you going to do?”. Nothing was the answer. He couldn’t get out of the chair without one of us letting him loose and that was not going to happen. Nobody would miss him. Nobody would care. Nobody would even hear him. I played with the tip of my blade carelessly. I wanted him to know how much I didn’t care about him.

 

“Cry and scream all you want, but I do think you need some alone time to think about just what is going on. Come on boys.” I said, turning my back to him and pushing everyone up the stairs. There were groans and complaints. Alyn wanted to see more, Skinner wanted to see him cry. “He’s just being a spoiled little bitch.” Damon argued as I pushed them into the kitchen and hit the lights in the basement. Leaving the spoiled little bitch strapped down in utter darkness.

 

**X**

 

Stronger than I’d been in months I felt rage and fire come over me in waves. This bastard cut me. Jokes aside, games aside, he had physically cut me. A slap during a fight was one thing, but this…

 

Then he left. And I was alone. Darkness was never my friend. I thought of all the nights I’d spent in the dark without any family, any friends. I ran away from the Starks once and had to spend the night outdoors under starlight. I’d felt so awfully alone. It was like nobody was there and nobody would come for me, nobody cared if I was gone. When the day broke Ned was there taking me by the hand and leading me back to his house.

 

He told me everyone in the house was up all night scared, worried, anxious. Rob had called every friend he knew asking about me. Jon was trying to calm the younger kids whose minds raced and jumped to the worst conclusions. Sansa had cried in her room thinking she was the one who made me run away and she took a vow of silence until everyone knew I was safe. Ned himself had been out most of the night looking for me in town thinking I hitched a ride with somebody or snuck into a bar. I guess I was a little bit smart to think of running the other way, but not smart enough to run far enough. Honestly I was glad they found me,  huddled way out in the woods covered in dirt and shivering. Thinking of anybody caring so much - it made coming back easier.

 

That night, before I was found, was how I felt now. Alone. Tears spilled out of me without me meaning to. Maybe because I was finally by myself, and when my tears subsided I yelled more and more. I cursed and screamed and said anything I could think of to get the attention of anyone above me.  I could hear Kyra’s steps in the hall above me. I could hear the boys laughing and joking. I could hear the microwave beeping, the TV on, the hoots and hollers of the people who were keeping me down here.

 

I don’t know how much time passed, it could have been minutes or hours or days or years. My fingers wouldn’t hold still, my chest felt hot, then sore, then dry with old blood. My feet twisted and turned as much as they could, my face ached, and my screams turned from _you can’t do this to me_ to _just give me a goddamn drink_ **.**  Then I tasted copper in the back of my mouth and every swallow was like choking on razors. I spoke loudly, then softly, then not at all.

 

Then the noises above me were gone, after a while they slowly vanished until there were just Ramsay and the girls walking around up there. Then it was just Ramsay. Then the door opened and the light turned on.

 

He was downstairs before I could even register the brightness that flooded the room. His voice was much softer than before, and he had changed into a dark pair of pants and a black shirt. Dark colors wouldn’t stain. That was my first thought. My second thought was god help me.

 

**X**

 

“Are you ready to play again?” I almost whispered it, he was doing all kinds of things to me by just being there. I could tell he was crying, his eyes puffy and red. The darkening under his eye had bloomed in the dark like a rare flower and was turning darker shades of purple and yellow with every passing second. It was intoxicating to watch him struggle against the bonds but finally nod his head.

 

“Not so vocal now are we?”

 

He nodded again, his head slowly moving up and down, bobbing without taking his eyes off me. I liked that. It would be better if he were afraid to even look at me, but I knew that would come in time.

 

“I don’t need to remind you of the rules, I think you remember those.” I took out the pocketknife and twirled it in my palm, pulling a few crates out of the corner of the room and sitting on them. I would have to remember to bring down a chair for myself soon. Sitting on the wooden crates, I eyed him up and down, watching his eyes watch my palm. Yes, this was very good so far.

 

“Would you like to try that last question again? Double or nothing.” I said, as if it didn’t really matter.

 

“I was drunk. I was late. I fell asleep on the job. They hated me.” His voice was raspy and weak. It was exactly what I wanted to hear. The rawness overwhelmed me, I could taste the copper in his throat. This was the answer. He had gotten it right. There could be more, but I would be a benevolent god for now.

 

 

"Good," I whispered, softly and slowly. I had brought a bottle of cold water downstairs and opened the cap. I lifted it to his dry, cracked lip, the blood still sticky and clinging to his mouth from earlier. "Slowly," as if he some control, and  I poured a bit into his mouth. He may have wanted to fight me, crave to spit at me and scream and cuss again, but the gratitude was a mask on his face for a few moments until he showed no emotion at all.

 

This will be very fun.

 

 

 

 


	20. Not Broken

 

 

He had spent eight days in the basement - in the chair. He wouldn’t exactly say he was broken. He wasn’t. He just knew things now. He knew what Ramsay might want to hear. What would keep his aching bleeding chest from suffering through more torture. He knew what would get him water, if Ramsay was in the mood of course. What could get him food. He lived and died in that chair time and time again for eight days. 

 

Every time he would close his eyes he would open them thinking  _ no more. please no more _ . 

 

Ramsay liked that. Theon didn’t beg. Greyjoys did not beg. Well Theon didn’t beg at first. At first the cuts were the worst. Every slice opened new pains, new aches, new fires. Then his chest became numb. After a few slashes, carefully placed for incorrect answers - his screams became wordless moans. He was still allowed his questions.

 

He would ask,  are you crazy, _ why are you doing this to me, what did I do _ . Ramsay would answer however he saw fit,  _ no, maybe I am, yes. Because I feel like it. Because I’m bored. Because you need me to do this _ .   Then sometime around twelve hours after his last drink, Theon wouldn’t ask for answers, just drinks. Just a drop. You can cut me again for a sip. 

 

Hit me, spit on me, slap me, cut me. Just give me a fucking drink. I’ll fucking die, I’ll die. You’ll kill me. I can’t breath. 

 

In darkness he heard voices, his father, his mother, his sister. He saw Rob Stark himself coming down the steps to set him free, a pale face cutting through the pitch blackness as Theon convulsed with need. Rob would come nearer and nearer and Theon could swear he could feel the touch of fingers on his own restrained wrists. He would hear screams and cries and moans in the dark. There was no way they could possibly be coming from his mouth. Not when they sounded like that. He could hear creaking and barking and his father whispering in his ear that nobody could ever set him free. 

 

Ramsay was the only one who came to him, ever touched him. 

 

Once Ramsay went away and Theon couldn’t deal with the darkness, the spinning, the voices and faces mocking him from all angles of his delirium,  his stomach lurching and empty and needing so loudly. Acid burned his mouth, and unable to move, unable to swallow the dry lump in his throat he opened his mouth. The sick covered his raw chest, burning him even on the patches of skin that were left intact. The wounds however shallow they were, screamed in pain. 

 

Ramsay returned some time later with a bottle of whiskey. Taking one look at the mess in front of him he opened the cap and laughed. If his original intention was to be cruel or kind, Theon had made that choice easy. Sobbing and messy it was impossible to pass him up.

 

“I think you need a little cleaning up, my dear.” Then Ramsay hummed,  pouring most of the bottle over the tied down torso in front of him. Theon screamed, then he begged, then he cried - fat tears rolling down his face. His raw rasping begging to just please stop. Please. His bladder let go, he shook, he didn’t care. Just make the pain stop.  _ Greyjoys don’t beg . _ His mind revolted against him as his own voice begged for mercy. His own body trying to pull away relentlessly. 

 

The amber liquid flowed off the wounded body, pooling on the floor among the tear droplets, crimson splatters, vomit and forever growing piss puddle. 

 

Pathetic was the last word Theon heard before Ramsay tipped the bottle to his chapped lips and allowed the remaining alcohol to flow into Theon’s greedy throat. Gasping and sputtering and accepting the little he could get he was thankful - even as his body burned and the shame coursed through him like water. His father’s voice faded to an echo, then vanished completely, yet Rob’s face remained staring at him as he gulped at the bottle. Some part of him knew this shifting face didn’t belong to the boy he thought of as his friend, his brother, yet he felt heat rise to his face all the same. 

 

The days passed the same. Sometimes Ramsay would spend hours at Theon’s side, playing with him, asking him questions to simple things, facts from quiz booklets on the backs of magazines.

 

“What is the largest land animal?”

 

“What’s the best selling movie of the 1980’s?” 

 

“Which fast food chain owns the most stores worldwide?”

 

Theon would guess, like a trivia show. Wrong or right there was always a definite answer, and he could take some comfort in that. Then there were questions his mind couldn’t even begin to puzzle out.

 

“What is my favorite song?”  _ Did Ramsay even listen to music. _   


 

“Who was the first employee at my father’s company?”  _ I don’t even know what the company is . _

 

“Why did I do this to you.” 

 

_ That _ was the million dollar question. Every guess Theon could have was stripped away from him like so many inches of flesh. Every drop of blood seeping out of his body was another incorrect guess. The metal behind him,the leather holding him down - by day three those feelings were just life. His back aching was just how it was. Those bands around his limbs were just facts like the largest land animal. 

 

It was the new pains that brought him back to reality. Waking to see those blue eyes on him, freezing him, the blush that would creep over his features whenever he saw Ramsay just watching him like that.  He would try yelling every day until he thought his voice would always remain cracked and broken. He would curse and scream and spit like a wild animal. 

 

He hadn’t walked in days. He hadn’t eaten real food in days.His stomach felt like some cavernous pit.  Ramsay brought him some bread one day, for correct answers Theon got exactly one bite. Each correct answer gave him one more mouthful. The most humiliating questions Theon would shut his mouth. Food wasn’t worth the small inches of pride he had left, but he had other problems. The problem was trying to swallow the dry crusty bread when he did answer correctly. White bread bobbed in his throat refusing to go down or up, just sitting right in the center. Even that didn’t compare to the worst of it.

 

The worst thing that had happened over those eight days wasn’t the hunger, or the mess he had to sit in...the stink of shit filled the room after a day and a half. The worst wasn’t the pain, or the shame, or the humiliation of allowing this to happen. The worst thing happened when Ramsay’s hand strayed too far one day. It was some time towards the end of his first imprisonment in the chair. 

 

Ramsay was toying with a wound on Theon’s gaunt stomach. His fingers playing just below the navel with a particularly well placed, deeper wound. One hand was pressed against the quivering abdomen, running his nails along the jagged edge of the torn skin, his other hand was against an immobilized thigh. 

 

Then Theon felt the terrible sensation of an accidental brush of hand against that always ready part of himself. That terrible part of himself that stirred even when he felt like he was dying. When hope was bleak his cock didn’t notice one bit. The slightest touch was more than he’d felt in what felt like forever. 

 

One blood rush later and his filthy sweatpants were tenting against Ramsay’s hand. Ramsay moaned under his breath eying the offending organ. 

 

“Ohh, just look at this.” He muttered, the words flowing like honey between his gritted teeth as Theon struggled against his binds, cursing and fighting and thinking so desperately of anything to stop that terrible throbbing between his legs. 

 

“You’re not a little monster. You’re just a little horny fucking bastard.”

 

Theon froze. He could almost remember. He almost could hear those words coming from his mouth in some darkened room years ago when somebody else was restrained and aching. It was like a word sitting on the tip of his tongue but just refusing to come out. 

 

Then it was gone, like smoke in a breeze and Ramsay left Theon alone in darkness again to deal with his aching needs. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating a bunch, I got a new job! Working just about every day and tons of hours. So when I get home I'm dead tired. Hopefully this makes up a little bit for the delay. Comments keep me writing <3\. 
> 
> Also kinda starting a blog? Kind of maybe? It's game of thrones playlists on tumblr. I've got a Theon one, working on more (when I have time?) www.tumblr.com/blog/songoffireandthrones. Something to listen to :D


	21. Subject : Hey?

 

 

To : xXMighty_KrakkenXx@gmail.com

From : AshGrey_024@hotmail.com    

 

Subject : RE Creepy.

  


I’m glad everything is okay with you. Sorry to hear about that creepy guy, Dad’s got a friend like that but I don’t know his name. Somebody who works with Uncle Euron I think. He never says a word, but he's still terrifying. No idea honestly if he even works with uncle, but it’s best to just leave it alone. I know it sucks , but if this creep your friend has over actually physically tries anything I’d go to the cops. That’s assault.

  


[Delivered February, 7 - 2354]

  
  
**X**   
  


To : xXMighty_KrakkenXx@gmail.com

From : AshGrey_024@hotmail.com    

 

Subject : Hey?

 

Hey, I mean I know you’re probably busy and all but you usually get back to me pretty fast so I was just wondering if everything was okay. Hopefully it’s nothing too bad, probably just your computer acting up again. Did I tell you mom was really sick the other night? We took her to the hospital, but they can’t find anything wrong exactly. I’m sure she would love to see you, probably put her in a good mood - even if you just came by for lunch or something. I can make sure dad’s out of the house.

Well just get back to me when you can okay? You know my new number, or at least send me a message on here or something. 

 

[Delivered February, 9 - 2031]

 

  
**X**   
  


To : xXMighty_KrakkenXx@gmail.com

From : AshGrey_024@hotmail.com    

 

Subject : <blank>

 

Hopefully you’re not mad  at me, sorry about that comment I made before if that pissed you off. Or whatever really. I’m not trying to interfere with your life if that’s what you're thinking I was just trying to give you some advice. Anyway mom keeps talking about you. It’s really starting to piss dad off. I think you’d love to come and see this. Dad pissed and all. It's funny...almost. Not a ton is too funny without you here. I miss you, little brother. Well just get back to me when you can.

Love you.

   

 

[Delivered February, 11 - 1704]

 

  
  
**X**   


 

To : xXMighty_KrakkenXx@gmail.com

From : AshGrey_024@hotmail.com    

 

Subject : Rodrik

 

Theon please message me back, or call me. I tried calling you but your number isn’t in service anymore? There's been an accident. Rodrik ... well they took him to some hospital but we’re having a hard time figuring out where he’s at right now because his fucking wife won’t tell us and the hospitals are no help because of all that legal bullshit. Please call me. Please. I can't type everything out. And it's important.  

Love you.

 

[Delivered February, 14 - 2321] 

[Seen February, 14 - 2345]

 

  
**X**   


 

To : xXMighty_KrakkenXx@gmail.com

From : AshGrey_024@hotmail.com    

 

Subject : <blank>

 

If you’re mad at me for something I said then just let it go for now. You don’t even need to talk to me as a human. But you need to see your mother and your brother. They both need you right now. BTW : I can tell you’re looking at these and just not replying back. I turned on that option that tells me when you open the email. So it’s not your computer. I don’t care if it’s me. Come home. Yell at me all you want. But we need  you here.

 

Love you. No matter what.

 

[Delivered February, 15 - 0120]

[Seen February, 15 - 0751]

  
  
  
**X**   
  


To :  AshGrey_024@hotmail.com

From :  xXMighty_KrakkenXx@gmail.com

 

Subject : sorry.

  


ive been really sick lately. really under the weather. i dont think i should be around rodrik right now, if hes hurt i dont want him getting worse. ill call him tomorrow, do you have a number for him i can get him at. im not mad at you. really. my keyboard stopped working altogether and i havent been able to make it out of the bathroom in the past few days, let alone get somewhere with a working keyboard. ramsay fixed it a little bit so that most of the keys work, but some still dont. you can see which ones are broken.

tell mom ill be over in spring, maybe for easter. tell rodrik im sorry, and i hope everything is okay. ill be over as soon as i know i wont do him more harm than good. i love you too.

  


[Delivered February, 15 - 0825]

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not giving up on this. Just taking a little longer than normal. Gotta get into a new schedule.


	22. Be Good.

 

 

I thought of going to the police more than once. I thought of it every second I was in that damn chair.  I thought of going to the media, the cops, my father. I thought my father  ** will ** stop this. My sister will. My brothers will. My mother will. I may not have been the perfect son but I was their son, I was their brother. 

 

When I finally got out I was crying, and gasping and muttering and mindless. I was seething and I couldn’t move my legs. Everything below my waist felt like grape jelly when you tip those tiny plastic containers from the dinners over and it spills out all over the table. It’s just this shape of goo nobody wants to touch or clear up. 

 

He pulled me to his chest and walked me upstairs, holding onto me, because I couldn’t do it. I was that weak and delirious, but I knew him.It's sickening, even now that in that moment I wanted to be close to him. He was the one who had put me there in the first place. He had done everything he could do to me, at least I thought at the time he had done everything - yet I forgot that for a few seconds. All I felt was his warmth, his comfort. I felt like I was so lucky for him to save me when nobody else had. He played with my hair, he pressed his lips to my ear and told me everything would be okay. He brought me to the bathroom and tugged off my pants and I panicked. I cared and fought but couldn’t fight enough when he got me into the tub and washed me from head to toe. I knew him then. His face hit me like a brick. The bright bathroom lights, the surface of the water reflecting him back to me, I wanted him away from me. This soulless thing that had held me captive for so long. I tried to bite him, my teeth sunk into his arm and he just shook it off like it was nothing.  

 

Blood mixed with the bathwater, his or mine I couldn’t tell and I shook my head and twisted in his arms. I tasted iron in my mouth, but I had tasted iron for so long. I tasted that salty sweet burn of blood coating my throat. I still didn't know if it was my own or from his arm. To think I could be that effective was pure arrogance.  He chuckled and clucked his tongue like I was a child and told me to settle down and behave. I fought him, I did. I twisted in his hands like an eel, but it’d been so long since I felt warm water on my skin, it had been so long since I felt anything but pain. Discomfort was my life for over a week. It seemed like forever at the time, and I couldn't help melting into the heat around me. When he brushed against my chest I screamed and kicked and lashed out - fiery hot ribbons digging into my skin again and again as soap and water covered me. I wanted to sink into the water and never come up. 

 

He sighed one of those heavy disappointed sighs when he brought the water up to my head and poured it over me. It was like I was drowning, I hadn’t even seen this much water in a week. My feet pressing against the cool tub, my fingers clutching at themselves, and I was so strong, but he was being so nice after everything... everything he had done. He used that voice he used around the girls, the quiet one that hummed and purred praises to everyone but me. I thought of being very, very small and feeling water being poured over my head. Warm soapy suds running down my face, easing into the memories from a life I had forever ago. Before foster homes, before boy schools, before pain and blood and alcohol and the dizzying spin of the world around me

 

“Be good.” He whispered and I was torn. Most of me, this huge hulking part of me that was here was fighting and screaming, I clenched my teeth together and snarled because I had nothing left. I had no more words as he washed me so gently, like he cared. There was shame and rage and wrath burning inside me. 

 

But there was this small part, this teeny tiny inch of myself that wasn’t really me. I don’t know what it is, or was. It was this tiny monster inside me that  _ wanted _ to be good. This diseased part cried to be touched and comforted. It wanted that purring voice in my ear, inside my head all the time. It wanted his touch to sooth me. 

 

Both parts of myself came to one mutual agreement - neither of us wanted to go back to that chair ever again. 

 

** X **

 

I laid him down in his fresh sheets, and pulled the blankets up to his chin. I put a glass of water by his bed and knelt down beside his head. I stroked his head the way his mother never did...the way my mother never did either I suppose. I eyed the still sore looking patch of faint yellow under his eyes.   


 

I licked my lips and thought  _ patience _ .  In time he’ll be perfect. In time he’ll be exactly what I want him to be. In time I can get rid of  _ him _ once and for all and I’ll be free to do what I want.  I just had to set up the game. I had to put the pieces in place. He needed to feel confused, conflicted, alone. He did already. I knew that, but not utterly so. I still have a few minor details I needed to tweak. 

 

Until now I knew he was stupid and slow. I knew eight days wouldn’t break him. I knew what he was thinking. He wanted out, but not badly enough yet. He wanted an easy escape, with some cuts and bruises and praise for being so strong. He wanted somebody to come and pick him up and tell him he had been so wonderful through all this. He was so fantastic for allowing me to carry out these revenge fantasies that filled me head. The truth was only part of this was still about revenge. He thought he was so strong and resilient.   


 

He wasn’t strong, I knew the truth. I would prove that to him soon. 

 

I leaned in and planted a kiss on his temple, it was a sudden thought, just to see if I could - but he was already asleep. 

 

** X **

 

Nightmares followed me. My eyes were shut and open and shut again and I didn’t have any idea what was real and what wasn’t. I felt blades cutting into me, then the soft touch of my sheets. I could hear nothing - just the wind blowing snowflakes outside my window. Then I would hear screaming and crying and yelling. I could taste the blood and bile in my mouth, then  I would only taste a lingering soapy sickness covering my tongue in a thin film from a bath that may have been imagined. My bed was the chair then it was my bed again. An island of blankets and pillows spinning like a tilt-a-whirl.   


 

Waking and sleeping - it was all the same that night. I tumbled through the dark looking for a way out but I just wrapped myself up tighter and tighter in my blankets. Sweat and blood and tears staining the cotton around me.  The only thing I could be sure of was that voice that kept whispering in my ear, a soft comforting voice that made my skin crawl. That voice that leaned in close to my ear at first, then simply echoed inside me. The voice that told me running was useless. The voice that told me I was his. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the super late updates. Hope you enjoy <3


	23. One Time Deal.

 

 

He haunted the hallways like a ghost, his dark eyes flashing hatred and red at me every chance he got. He would connect across the room and lock onto me with that passionate anger that filled him to the brim - then he was gone. It was like the spark inside him wouldn’t let him sit in a room with me for longer than two heartbeats.

 

I don’t even know if he really ate anymore. I assumed he did when cups and plates would go missing for hours and somehow in the middle of the night reappear in the right drawers, washed and ready to use.

 

The girls were fed and walked but I don’t know when. I could never catch him, and if I did it was right as he was performing his vanishing act. He cleaned the house as always, and made dinner at least three times a week. I could smell the food cooking from my office but if I so much as crept down the stairs silently and peeked around the corner he wasn’t there. One second he was there, then he wasn’t. Evidence was all over the house waiting to be found. A boiling pot of noodles in the kitchen, some magazine left out on the table that he couldn’t put away in his hasty disappearance. He must spend every day holding his breath listening for me.  I know he hated me and I loved it. 

 

He was utterly trapped, his brother laid up, his family growing more and more distant everyday. Who was he going to turn to? I had every base covered from A to Z and several small schemes in the middle. 

 

The best thing was when I took out the garbage, gathering the bag up in my hand I saw a piece of fabric sticking out. It was a shirt, a size larger than my own and something I’ve only seen on a body that was growing smaller and smaller every day. Yet here was a shirt, one he’d been wearing rather often I thought. 

 

On closer inspection I saw the inside was criss crossed in a patchwork of red, to think of anything ripping open those tender scabbing wounds made me ache. I wanted to storm into his room, tear his clothes off and fuck him until he begged me to stop. I wanted to hear that raspy voice crying and moaning and that wet choking noise I knew he would make when I forced his face into the sheets. I could picture thrusting myself into him, ripping open those old wounds and tearing my teeth into his back to form new ones. 

 

I stuffed the shirt into my back pocket and threw out the rest of the trash, just looking at that dried red was like porn. I was never one for going online and watching plastic cunts slam themselves against each other. It was too fake, even the rougher stuff was just never enough. This was real, this stale sweat and crusting blood was there, it was from me. I did this. 

 

I wanted more. Running my hands over my cock that night as I mindlessly toyed with the shirt next to me I thought of the next addition to the chair. I came thinking about stains he would leave in the sheets after I was done tearing him apart. 

  
  
  
  


** X **

  
  
  
  


He was working in the basement again. The sound wasn’t as loud, but I knew it was there, hiding under all the other noise that made up my life. I couldn’t look at him, couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as him anymore. Just thinking about the things he said, what I felt when he touched me, what he did, how he looked at me… trying to act like none of that happened was too much. 

 

There was so much eating at me that I couldn’t sleep at night. That tugging inside my gut every time I heard his footsteps, the rage that boiled over and over inside whenever I thought about how I just let myself be tied down like  an animal, the terror of being stuck here. There was no hope, unless somebody would help me out. I need a hand to get me out of this pit. 

 

Nobody was going to believe me when I told them what happened.I knew going to the police would be suicide. They’d laugh and even if they did do something or believe me then I knew Ramsay would cover his tracks. He was ten steps ahead of me and prepared for any outcome I could come up with. I could see it in his eyes - whenever I did see his eyes...the glaring, like he was daring me to say something to anyone. 

 

The worst part is I wasn’t physically held in his house. Once I got out of that chair I could have hit the ground running if I wanted to. I did want to, but I didn’t know where to go or what to do. I have no idea how to even get home...wherever home is anymore. My laptop was gone, Ramsay said it was broken, in one of the stilted conversations I did have with him asking where a few things of mine had vanished too. He had told me none too kindly maybe I could ask Santa Claus for a new one and that was the end of that. I could take a hint.

 

I could go back to the Starks if I really wanted to, but I know for a fact after everything that happened it wouldn’t be a joyous reunion and they’re form a line to kick my ass. Between my father’s comments and the stories they’d heard. The things I’d said about them...it wouldn’t end well for me. Rob was the only comfort and even he might turn on me. Not like I wasn’t deserving. 

 

So I was trapped without any physical bonds to whatever this sick asshole had planned for me. 

 

Maybe this was a fluke. This whole basement thing, maybe it was some kind of dare or initiation or something. Those are the things I thought to myself at night, listening to him hammering away a few feet below me. Maybe this is all one big test, maybe I passed and now he’ll just leave me alone. Those are the words I’d whisper to myself whenever I had to peel my shirts off my chest. I ruined so many shirts the week afterwards I thought I wouldn’t have any left, but I just couldn’t stand the idea of walking around without one on. It didn’t matter if the boys were in the house or not. I could be alone and all I wanted was to be covered up.

 

There was a time when I could walk around naked and not care. Nothing changed but me I guess. Right after I was able to sleep in my bed again I tried to lay there in my sheets naked and just remember how I used to feel days ago in this same bed, in this same body. Was it soothing? The sheets felt nice against my legs, but no matter how I laid the scabs on my chest  caught against the blankets and pillows and in the morning after tossing and turning the white sheet under me was blooming with red flowers. 

 

I felt sick every morning. Not drunk sick, although I guess I still felt that and I might always feel like that. It’d been days since I had so much as a sip, but it was more of a dizzying disorientation that I woke up with. It was like I didn’t know where I was. Eight  days downstairs and I was feeling lost. I felt humiliated in myself for letting myself be broken down so easily, so I kicked and fought and told myself I was strong. I acted like everything was normal. I ate in my room or outside or in the living room. I like avoiding everyone so they couldn’t see me, see through me like they had downstairs. 

 

I was strong, I kept thinking. My mind was iron and as long as I could be strong I would be. This was all over, this one time deal. 

 

 


	24. Promises, promises.

 

 

He needed more time. I knew a few days wasn’t going to be the cure all to fixing everything wrong with  _ theon fucking greyjoy .   _ That was a good thing though, I didn’t think of those capitals letters. I only thought of him with lower case, like he was shrinking away in every aspect possible.He was growing smaller and smaller even in my own mind, like he was taking steps backwards from me. One day he would just be a dot on the horizon - then he would be gone from view.   


 

I could tell he thought of himself highly. My opinion was diminishing, his was growing, or at the very least temporarily ballooning. He thought he had passed some kind of initiation rite. I could see his brain spinning to think of how fantastic he was for dealing with this all _so beautifully_.  It infuriated me honestly, this smugness that filled the room he was in like this thick opaque cloud hovering around him. He'd never disappear from my horizon if he was present on his own.  He needed to take a few steps, get smaller in his own mind first. There was no way he was going to retreat on his own. I'd have to help him. I’d have to get him downstairs again, and soon. 

 

** X **

 

The house was pitch black and I crept downstairs to get a sip of water. _ They  _ were here all day, but I thought they were gone. Honest to god. I was hiding out in my room all day, reading a few books. I spent some time with the girls, they were the only living creatures around here I didn't have to hide from. I spent most of my afternoon with them, walking each of them for a bit, playing around, just being out of the house.  

 

 

Anyway, I thought the boys left. So I think it was sometime between two and three am. I could have been wrong, but those are last numbers I remember seeing in bright green flashing on the microwave display.  I’m standing in the kitchen thinking I’m alone. I was leaning over the sink, the sleeves of my thermal dragging through this puddle of water every time I had to reach my glass of water. I always put it on the other side of the sink so I don't knock the glass over. I still shake sometimes. Well I still shake a lot of the time. I slowed down on the drinking since … well I didn’t really want to think about it. 

 

So now when I woke up shaking and sweating in the middle of the night I drank a whole glass of water with ice. I put some salt in there too. Not a lot, just a pinch. It was like a ritual. Almost every night I would wake up drenched and sneak down here to sip until the ice melted. It took usually took twenty three minutes for my four ice cubes to make the transformation from solid to liquid. Something about this whole thing calmed me, and my shaking would stop. I wouldn’t feel so hot anymore. That slightly salty tang in my mouth would remind me of being home, and I would be able to go to bed. I usually felt exhausted as soon as my glass was empty. Then I’d clean the glass as quickly as possible and put it exactly where I found it. I'd creep back upstairs and go to sleep.   


 

On this particular night however, I was looking at those four bobbing cubes, frozen in my glass. Then I’m looking out at the snow thinking how long this winter is. I’m deep breathing and moving from foot to foot on the oak flooring. And then I was heard a creaking behind me. 

 

Like a horror movie I turn so fast I don't remember doing it. One second I was looking at the window, then I was looking at the doorway to the living room. I knew who it was, the only person it could be. There he is, smug and dressed like he’s ready to go out on the town, dark button up, black jeans, the works. I try to get out of dodge, setting my glass on the edge of the sink, and preparing to run past him. 

 

** X **

 

“Why, hello there.” His clothes are drenched and he has that scared look on his face. I grin. He has no idea. He’s got no clue _I know_ he comes down here every night. 

 

** X **

 

“You really can’t keep secrets from me,” shaking his head like he’s disappointed in me or something. “I always find out about them one way or another.” 

 

I haven’t spoken to him in days, and I’m not about to break the streak, so I just look down at the ground and start to move towards him. After all he’s blocking the only door that doesn’t lead to the basement...when I heard more creaking. I stop. 

 

** X **

 

He started panting, his eyes looking at me finally. He inched backwards til he was pressed against the counter top. I’m not sure if he’d be happier to think it was some strange home intruder coming to kill us both and sneak off with every DVD player in the house. If that’s what he was hoping for he’s out of luck. 

 

** X **

 

Who do I see come around the fucking corner and into the kitchen? Damon. Then Alyn, then Skinner, then Ben, then the rest. They’ve all just been so quiet I couldn’t hear them? Or was I not paying attention. I could not have been that oblivious.   


 

For one second, one blissful second I think somehow they’re all going out somewhere, or just returning. I have no idea why they’re here, looking at me, waiting for me...again. Then I know. 

 

** X **

 

Within three seconds of seeing the boys, who although quiet moments ago were now carrying on like I’d unleashed the cages during feeding time at the zoo - he turned. The only thing behind him was a sink and a window. If he wanted to get out of the window he was stuck. We’d get him first. I was sure the window was locked, and even if he managed to unlock it there were about fifteen steps between the two of us. I would be on him before he could feel the wind.   


 

I knew he was going to be a lot more...difficult this time, so I asked Skinner to go to him first. As soon as Skinner’s arms touched his he turned back, facing us with his teeth bared like a wild dog and knocking the precariously balancing glass of water to the floor in the process. 

 

** X **

 

An explosion went off under my feet. I couldn’t move, it was like I was on ice. The only fucking exposed part of myself was currently being ripped to shreds as chunks of glass gouged into my feet. I felt a large piece of freezing cold glass wedge itself between my toes, I screamed. The pain was so great, so total I felt myself falling. 

 

Then those arms were around me, and I knew ruined feet would be nothing compared to what they’d do to me if they got me downstairs again. I tore into him as best I could.  I felt my nails take flesh, I felt my feet struggling against him, pushing glass further into my soles. This was life and death. I knew if they got me down those steps again I wouldn't be allowed to come up again.   


 

I felt the blood dripping out of my new wounds as Ben came to me next. Ben was always my favorite, if I had to pick a favorite. He was the least repulsive and left me alone more than anyone else. He was never nice, but he never went out of his way to be mean.   


 

I fought him too.

 

** X **

 

It took everyone to get him carried downstairs, his nails digging into skin, then the wooden door frame until I hear a this miniature cracking sound and saw that although Theon was halfway down the steps, his middle finger’s nail was embedded in the wood by the threshold. I'd later have to pry that out and spent at least ten minutes trying to cover the etchings he was making with his remaining nails. It was ineffective at best , since he had taken to biting his nails and there was nothing for him to catch the remaining stubs on.   


 

He was  screaming, spitting, and I had to say I could almost admire this. He knew what was coming, at least he knew it wouldn’t be good. One day he’d sit here willingly for me, until then however I had to make sure he would be properly secured - and the way he was carrying on, that was impossible if he was awake. 

 

** X **

 

I tried to get out, but it was like they were made of stone. No matter what I said or did or promised they had me. I waved my feet to land a kick, tried throwing my fists, but nothing seemed to work. My finger ached, my feet screamed louder than I did. 

 

I did not beg, I never begged, but I did promise. There is a difference, I thought to myself. My father would not be ashamed of a promise, of a loan, of a threat. He made promises himself. Far away from the screaming I saw a little boy and his father sitting by a hospital bed. The father was holding onto the boy's hand and he was saying _I promise everything will be okay._   That was the last thought I had even as I saw that huge fist coming towards my face, filling my vision. Then there were fireworks in every color in the room and I felt myself give. I screamed to keep fighting, but by then everything was dark. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be more soon, I promise.


	25. Unintentionally Intentional

 

See, this is much better. I changed a few things, but now with just a few adjustments we can get to every single part of him. Well just about. All you have to do is just unhook this piece right here - ahh, there it goes. And you can take the entire back off this chair! Now we can get to where ever we need to go. All you have to do before is hook that little chain right there up so it’ll keep his head chained down. 

 

Well I suppose it’s kind of like a dog’s collar. It was unintentional, but I do enjoy the comparison. So, it’s simple really. I’m sure he’ll be bound to be thrilled when he realizes the changes I’ve made. 

 

Oh look, he’s coming around. 

 

** X **

 

This time Theon knew the game. He knew what was expected, but it didn’t make things easier. If anything it made him even angrier. His vision was clouded with crimson. Hadn’t last time been enough?  Last time should have been evidence that he could do what they wanted him to do. At first he had been strong, then he had been… well different. He had been more willing to answer the questions, more willing to play the game. He had played both sides. The defiant and the willing. What else was there left? What more did they need. 

 

His chest still covered in faded pink marks, he realized he was stripped almost naked this time.  Everything inch of him struggled against his bonds, he wouldn’t be playing this time. No matter what happened. It didn’t matter. He hadn’t been drinking, so there would be no night terrors. No shaking and crying like a child. He wouldn’t be so weak.  There would be nothing to stop him from becoming iron, like the chair he was held in. 

 

“Listen to me. I don’t know what the fuck I did to make you want to do...this to me.” His tone was furious, he had to bite his lip to keep his mouth from trembling. Red hot fury spilled out with every word. There was more, but nothing wanted to come out. His mind reeled, he didn’t know what else to say really. A harsh bark of laughter filled the room in response. 

 

“You really remember nothing at all? Not a damn thing.” Another short laugh. If it could even be called that. The only things Ramsay could possibly laugh at was pain and misery. Theon wasn’t in pain yet, and instead of misery he felt hatred. “I doubt it. Honestly, it doesn’t matter. I’m sure one day it will all come running back to you.” Theon shook his head wildly from side to side. Ramsay approached, then stopped short a few inches away. A calculated chess game was taking place. Theon lifted his head and stared at the man before him - willing himself to burn holes through the man he despised.

 

“Hmm, well maybe one day if you’re lucky I’ll tell you a story about a little boy who didn’t know enough to not fuck with the wrong people.” Ramsay hissed, his lips curled like a dog’s against his teeth. Those cold eyes were narrowed into slits. Then he smiled, his eyes widening as if nothing were amiss. 

 

“I changed things a  little for you…” Ramsay neared the chair, his fingers sliding over the straps over his prisoner’s arms.  Theon seethed, pulling in vain at the all too familiar leather holding him down.  “Make things more comfortable for you.” 

 

Then Ramsay did something unexpected, he unleashed the right upper arm restraint. Then the middle one. Theon held his breath. What kind of game was this. To think he had won already was to become totally suicidal, nothing is that easy with Ramsay. Or could it be, just this once. Was this strong front he had put up what they wanted. Somebody who couldn’t be bullied. Theon held his breath, just this once.

 

“If you had to pick “ a soft click as Ramsay worked on his left arm’s restraints, only keeping Theon’s wrists down. “would you prefer the back or the front.” His fingers stopped their busy work and strayed towards Theon’s chest. He heaved, hoping - praying those fingers wouldn’t touch him. No god ever listened to his desperate pleas and he found himself wriggling under those freezing fingertips that probed his pink chest. Nails grazed over still raw spots of just forming scar tissue. Teeth bit down into lips to keep protests from tumbling out. 

 

“No answer?” Ramsay sighed, stopping his fingers just under Theon’s neck, an area that was gloriously unmarked. Those first few days he had only wanted to play, so he had restrained himself and kept only to the chest.  Now - well now things would be different. There were games, but there was a purpose under it.  It  took a few seconds and a leather collar was hooked around the exposed flawless skin. Theon lurked, but his wrists were still held down as well as his legs. Before he could even fully struggle or even calculate what was going on he was collared. A metal chain was attached and Ramsay stood back and inch to admire his work. 

 

He sighed. Theon glared. The room was hushed and deathly still. One quick jerk later Theon’s head was near his knees, his hands still clutching onto the armrests that held him captive, now opening and closing trying to dig into the metal. His nail less finger screaming in pain against the assault.  He couldn’t help the noise that came out of his mouth, somewhere between a scream and a squeak. The surprise, the uncomfortable position he found himself in - it was all so sudden that he had to bite his tongue to prevent any more sounds from slipping from his mouth. 

 

At this angle he could only look between his own knees onto the floor and at best see the boots and knees of the person in front of him - if he was straining. He could already feel a dull thudding behind his eyes as he tried to look up. He heard the sound of soft footfalls and watched as the black boots before him disappeared. 

 

“I’ve made some modifications. So we can have more fun.” The silence was so deafening Theon thought everyone had left as he felt something shifting behind him. The grating sound of metal on metal and then his back was exposed. The back of the chair was gone - like putting a rabbit back into a hat. 

 

Everyone muttered their praises for Ramsay’s ingenious, but Theon could barely hear anything. Blood pounding in his ears like a drum, he felt darkness and a throbbing headache in the peripherals of his mind. 

 

“I know, it was a wonderful idea. I had to show you in person. I knew you would just love it.” 

 

Was he talking to me ? Theon thought, disregarding it anyway. He had decided he wasn’t going to say a damn word. He would take whatever he was given. He would silently accept whatever. He wouldn’t cry or scream or beg. He wouldn’t play anymore of those bastard’s games. 

 

The leather boots appeared before him for a moment, feet apart, filling Theon’s limited vision. 

 

“Well? Don’t you just love it?” 

 

Seconds ticked past and Theon grew more and more defiant. This mind thinking of things to say, words to shoot out like poison darts. Insults, threats - in the end he had decided he wouldn’t say anything, he would stick to his plan. He would remain silent. Ramsay huffed once, clearly none too happy about this lack of obedience.

 

“Do not make me ask you again.” 

 

Theon answered the only way he thought he could. He took a deep breath, and spit right onto the leather inches from his face. The phlegm hit the intended mark.   
  


** X **

 

“I swear you’ll be thanking me when this is all over.”  I tried to make it sound like a promise, but it was more of a threat and we both knew it. He was just being such a difficult bitch this time around. It was like trying to train a dog that just doesn’t understand. No matter what kind of treats you give, no matter what kind of punishment you give, this dog just keeps making the same mistakes. There’s only so many times you can rub his nose in it before you start moving onto punishment that works. 

 

I wanted him to admit to everything. I wanted him to tell me all about that night. I wanted to hear him tell me all about everything, I wanted him to vomit every sick story in his past. I didn’t want his daddy issues, his pitiful cries of  _ he’s so disappointed in me because I’m not a lawyer _ .   I wanted to hear the stories of how Ned Stark crept into his bedroom at night. I wanted to hear him tell me the first time he came he was thinking of his siblings, his brothers would be best. I wanted to hear depravity. I wanted him to be broken, I wanted nothing between him and I. Then I would take him. Then he would be mine. Psychically I could have him now, but his mind wouldn’t be mine until I snapped him in two and sucked the very marrow from his bones. 

 

Little by little I would make it work. Like just now, as I was thinking all these things I should have been enjoying digging my blade deeper into his back. I wanted to flay him alive. That was a thought. Like a fucking fish. 

 

If I did he’d be gone. I couldn’t do just that yet. Too much too soon. He’d go into shock. He wouldn’t know what was happening even if I peeled the skin off his back, stripping it off him like a jacket. So now I just carved this line up and down his spine and pretended that I was going to take more flesh with me. 

 

He was screaming again. He was being rather stubborn. I wanted him to be silent, I could feel him quivering under me. See his back arch and fall and shakily inhale and exhale. I could see his lungs puff up under his thin skin. I could feel the sobs tearing out of his open maw. 

 

At first I was worried he had passed out. When I first brought the knife down into his back, and slid it under that first thin layer of epidermis he froze. He didn’t scream, didn’t breath, didn’t move. One slice, a downward motion, the boys were observing. They were waiting for me to be done finally so they could have a try with my new toy. I guess I should give them what they wanted. He was doing nothing for me. Maybe they would knock some sense into him. I was much too angry with him, with the spit dripping from my boot, with the screams that tore out of his throat. Sometimes those things give me release, sometimes they drive me insane. I couldn’t enjoy the process and therefore it would be a waste. I knew when I needed to take a step back.

 

“Ohhhh, Theon.” His name felt disgusting, like a coat of medication on my tongue it soured my mouth.  “You’ll wish for me back.” 

 

He hissed like a snake. He refused to say much as a single word. Just guttural screams and moans and cries and these hisses. I shrugged, as if he could see me. I made sure he could hear me walking away. I put my knife back into my pocket, and passed the boys, all salivating at the thought of five minutes alone in the basement to take out all their aggression. 

 

“You know the rules boys. Nothing below the belt.” I winked, letting the smirk I was wearing infect my speech. I almost felt a giggle come from my mouth as I walked up the steps, leaving him to my wolves. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally two chapters, but I figured since I don't know when I'm going to be able to update (AND IT'S CHRISTMAS GUYSSSSS) that I would give you a longer than normal chapter. Or maybe it's normal sized. It seemed a bit longer to me. Either way, enjoy :) Theon's in for a rough time. Comments are the best! And have a safe, happy holiday!


	26. Self Diagnostics

 

When he came back down I couldn’t even tell it was him. My face felt swollen to three times its size at least. My mouth wouldn’t work. I couldn’t spit, or swallow, or breathe. I was sure my nose was broken. I had a cracked rib. Something in my arm screamed everytime I let myself think about it. I  could stop self diagnosing any minute, or I can go on listing that things I knew was wrong inside me. 

 

I heard his boots, the heels clicking against the cement. I knew only he could make that sound. Only his boots, only his feet.  Some time after he left they let me sit back up. My back was no use to them. Fists were more the kind of thing they were interested in. I thought I might get out of everything all right, especially when they unhooked me. All the straps came undone, all the locks were unlocked. I was standing within a few minutes from Ramsay’s departure.  I was in just my boxers, my foot screamed whenever I put pressure on it. I rubbed my wrists were the leather had held me down, and felt like I should thank them.The pins and needles lingering in my fingers as I tried to shake life into my numb digits.   


 

I, for a moment, thought I had misjudged them. Any comments they would make in the future I would accept happily if it meant freedom from being tortured. I’d take the nicknames and catcalls and whatever else they wanted as long as I was free to go. That innocence lasted less than a minute. 

 

I don’t remember who threw the first punch, or the second, or any of the punches between first and last. I don’t remember any particular person doing any particular thing. There were hands around my neck at some point, but those hands belong to a faceless shadow that seemed too far out of my reach to do anything about. I was about to thank them for letting me go, I was about to say something about what a crazy fuck Ramsay was, I was about to laugh with them and tell them last time was some kind of misunderstanding. Then a fist came out of left field and I was knocked on my ass. I fell, I couldn’t help it.

 

I couldn’t put much pressure on my foot, there was still thin shards of glass wedged somewhere between my toes. I was unbalanced and then the surprise, the pain like a firework in my vision before I felt myself hit the ground. I struggled to get up, confused. Honestly somehow I thought  _ he _ was still down there, somewhere hidden with everyone else.  _ He _ was the one to hit me, and as I tried to look around the room and spot his face between everyone else’s I felt hands grabbing me, tugging me to my feet. 

 

I growled, trying to back away, but somebody had me. The hold was solid, and the laughter erupted around me, turning my face beet red. Dignity wasn’t something I had lost yet, and struggling to stand just about close to naked after being punched in the face was a cause for me to feel ashamed of myself. Even the pathetic noise I made was terrible. I struggled, then the real fun began I guess. 

 

Ramsay said no below the belt. I guess I can thank him for that. If nothing else. Until then my back was crying out in agony, my feet were so tender the slightest movement could bring tears to my eyes, and my finger...well it didn’t take much to make me gasp. That was all before the boys used me as their person punching bag. I thought something burst inside me at one point. I couldn’t stand, I kept trying to just get to the ground. If they could just give me a few minutes. I tried so hard not to cry, but I didn’t even have to try. After a few minutes my eyes were swollen shut, I couldn’t control the tears, or lack thereof if I wanted to. I know I lost a tooth or two. I felt one crunch under my foot when I tried to move, to plant my feet and give me some stability. I didn’t care about the glass anymore. I didn’t fucking care about my nails, or my bleeding spine. All I felt were bruises forming on every inch of me, I felt bones snap in my chest. 

 

I felt something crack in my wrist when somebody twisted me too far. I screamed. I screamed louder than I ever had before. Even my first time, when I thought I was dying of thirst. When I saw my brothers and father and Rob, standing there. When I thought nothing could be worse.

 

Every time I thought it would be over it wouldn’t be. I just needed a second to catch my breath. My chest hurt every time I inhaled, or exhaled. I tried not to breath, I wanted to just stop. Force my lungs to give up. Everything was dim. I could only see shadows, then those started drifting away like they were leaves in a breeze. Everything was fleeting. I couldn’t hear them joke or laugh. I couldn’t even hear the sound of skin hitting skin, flesh connecting with bones. 

 

Then I was gone. And I when I woke up, I was back in the chair, and he was coming down the stairs. 

  
  


** X **

  
  


“See what they can do to you if I let them?”  I had to admit, if I didn’t see his chest fluttering like butterfly wings I might have thought he was dead. That was the first time I felt the tingling ache of dread somewhere deep in my gut.  It was all for naught, because his head shifted as I came closer. I wanted to touch his hair, rest my hand on his shoulder. Do something comforting and confusing. I wanted him to feel safe with me. 

 

I didn’t do _this_.  He had to know that much.

 

His breathing was thick and noisy, it seemed like his nose must have been broken at least once, if not several times. The way he was holding his right hand seemed worrying too. It rested on the chair at such a strange angle I knew it something in it had snapped. Only his upper arm had been shackled back in, and the lack of his struggling told me it had to be bad. 

 

“But, if you behave, if you are very good and you do what I ask, then I won’t let them down here again” I purred, leaning close to his ear so he could make no mistake. I felt the gurgle in his throat and he tried to swallow whatever was in his mouth. Blood maybe, or saliva. I sensed his spitting days were over for a while at least.  His lips trembled.  His whole body shook. It looked like he had wet himself at some point - again. Nothing new there, and I sighed trying to ignore the faint ammonia smell that hung around him.  I brought down a cool washcloth. I had just wet it in the kitchen sink, and knew it would be so wonderful for him. To just place that over his surely aching face. To turn down the lights that were probably irritating his sensitive eyes. I could play this good cop - bad cop game forever if he wanted me to. 

 

I’m normally a very good judge of things like this. When a person is about to break. When a person is weak, and ready to agree with whatever I tell them. When a person just needs _something_ , all their strength gone and craving help. So I am willing to admit I thought he was there. I thought it was time for him to step back and give up, if only a little bit. 

 

His lips parted. I leaned closer, knowing he couldn't speak loudly. I didn’t want to miss this first real defeat.  I brushed my ear to that swollen mouth and closed my eyes to concentrate. The world went silent. Then he spoke.

 

“Bastard.”

 

I saw red. My vision changed, tunnel vision kicked in. I couldn’t storm out when he was like this. I thought, had thought that perhaps maybe the boys could give him something to work with. All this pain, all this humiliation, all these broken bones and welts and bruises and puffy patches of skin. I had been so stupid to think, once more that this creature was anything less than _so very fucking_ stubborn. 

 

How dare  _ he  _ call me anything other than his savior? How could he say a bad word about the person who had so lovingly brought him comfort, who had no part in the suffering he dealt with now. I came downstairs and was ready to soothe him. I was ready to unhook him and let him rest on the floor to nurse his wounds. I was ready to give him something to drink to calm the ache in his throat that I knew had to be there. I had heard him screaming, I had heard his cries. I knew he was raw inside and out. 

 

Yet here he was - still defiant. Was I so wrong to think that physical measures would be enough to break him down? Well, I had thought of that. I had taken a few steps in the right direction. If I couldn’t break him with blades or fists, if I couldn’t kill Theon physically I had to kill him mentally. I had to remove that emotional part of him. I had to storm through his mind and wreck havoc on his sanity. 

 

For now, standing above this pitiful thing - the only thing I could think to do was hurt. I grabbed his wrist between my fingers and yanked and he screamed. It was one of those cries that seems impossible under the circumstances. I flicked my own wrist and his followed, and I could feel broken shards of bone grind against each other under his flesh. I turned his arm over and placed my fingers against his wrist, feeling that faint thudding of blood rushing through him. I pressed my fingers against the thin skin and felt those same shards of ivory move under the pressure. 

 

He winced and screamed. I’m sure there were tears, but I couldn’t tell. His raspy nasally cry was irritating me at best. This wasn’t enough. To break apart a few bones - they would  grow and mend and heal. His noises seemed to aggravate me.  Suddenly I just didn’t want to see him anymore. I needed to walk away and begin working on my next play. I dropped his wrist, and felt nothing as it thudded painfully against the metal armrest. 

 

He made some kind of cry that sounded like choking, that sound I had dreamt about. Right now it wasn’t enough. I needed to make things perfect. Until then - he could wait. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This new job man....I think I've worked at least 25 hours in the past 24 hours, XD. Trying to make time to write is hard but I have a few days off soon. Comments are the best :)


	27. Subject : hey

To :  AshGrey_024@hotmail.com

From :  xXMighty_KrakkenXx@gmail.com

 

Subject : hey

 

hey, so i was wondering if it would be okay to meet up. i miss you, a lot actually. i mean i think you already know that. i’m finally starting to feel a little bit better.  so i was hoping maybe we could get dinner sometime. catch up you know.  i want to see how moms doing, i was thinking about coming over around spring, hows rodrik doing. is he okay. i tried calling that number you gave me but i guess nobody would transfer the call to his room. i hope everything is okay. i’m going to try to see him soon too. but i’d really appreciate it if we could just go out once. you can tell me everything, and like i said i really miss you.

  
**X**

 

To:  xXMighty_KrakkenXx@gmail.com

From: AshGrey_024@hotmail.com

 

Subject : RE:hey

 

I have every right to be pissed at you after that total silence bullshit thing you pulled on me. I can’t stay mad at you. I still don’t know if it really was your computer, or if you were just miserable and moody and being a teenager, but I can’t ignore you. Rodrik’s doing okay. They transferred him out of the hospital a few days ago. He’s home now, with his wife. I really can’t stand her, at all. That’s besides the point, anyway-  he’s doing therapy now. Like the physical kind, not the emotional kind. So hopefully everything will turn out for him. I know he’s having a lot of problems with his left side. Like walking and moving and stuff so I hope this therapy helps. Mom’s doing okay. Still sick. She really does miss you. I don’t want to tell her you’re coming and you never show up. So I guess we can talk about that at dinner. Where do you wanna meet up?

Love you.

  
**X**   


To :  AshGrey_024@hotmail.com

From :   xXMighty_KrakkenXx@gmail.com

 

Subject : Re re hey

 

how about that little bar on the corner of first by dad’s house. they used to have amazing food. so how about six thirty on friday.

  
  
**X**   


To:   xXMighty_KrakkenXx@gmail.com

From: AshGrey_024@hotmail.com

 

Subject : re re re hey.

  


Sounds okay to me. O'Malley's  right? I think I was there once. I’ll see you there.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short, but it's just a set up to a larger scheme. I promise. BTWS : Happy New Year!!!!


	28. Miles From Where You Are

 

Theon sat in the basement, trying to breath, to sleep, to think. He was alone. Utterly alone and he felt nothing. The roar of blood in his ears, the agony of his wounds, the grating of bones with every movement he made. At some point he had been released. He had to have been sleeping. A few moments he had nodded off and he woke abruptly to feeling his own body protest against a minute’s rest. He tugged his arm, left only - the right hurt to even think about, and found it free. A tentative tug on his legs revealed he wasn’t tied anymore at all. A small victory was a victory none the less.   


 

He let himself slip from the chair, finally on the ground. A few moments to rest before started to inch himself towards the closest wall and let his body collapse on itself. He thought of standing, thought of putting pressure on his feet, thought of running up the stairs and out the door and as far away as he could get before he died of exhaustion. He thought of all these things, but yet did nothing. He just lay against the wall, his chest heaving from stress and strain and pain. Sweat dripped from his brow as he eyed his surroundings. The room - normally with that glaringly bright light seemed dim. He knew it was just him. It was that darkness that crept into the corners of his vision. The swelling would be there for days, he knew that much. As long as he could see.  The walls were moving, the shadows swimming in and out of the limited eyesight he had. 

 

He rested. He waited. And when he felt he could inch towards the stairs he tried. 

 

** X **

 

Miles away in a dimly lit bar Ramsay was waiting like a hunter for it’s prey. He sat at the bar, a beer in front of him although he hadn’t taken a single sip and had no intention to for the rest of the night. He just looked at it, would wrap his fingers around the glass, then after waiting a few moments would unfurl his fingers and place them back in his lap. It was 6:09 on the dot when Asha Greyjoy waltz in. Her dark hair wrapped up in a tight ponytail and pinned onto the back of her head. She was dressed in a thin black jacket, jeans and a plain grey shirt.  It didn’t seem fancy, just practical. Ramsay found himself liking the idea that somebody in the Greyjoy line wasn’t primping and fawning over themselves every available second. 

 

She had a stoic beauty, her profile sharp against the hazy lighting. If Theon tasted like the sea. she looked like it. All angles and cuts. He knew if he unpinned that dark hair it would come tumbling down in waves behind her, bobbing with each step. She took a seat in a booth by the only window in the place and waited. She spent five minutes tapping on her phone before she approached the bar and asked for a vodka and cranberry. Put it on my tab, would you please. Thank you. And then she was back to sitting, facing the empty seat across from her and waiting anxiously for somebody who would never show up. 

 

** X **

 

He couldn’t do it. He just could not drag himself up the steps without his hand. Every effort caused bile to rise in his throat and send new pulses of pain through him. He had to stand up - but pressing his foot against the cold ground he knew the glass was still wedged inside him. He had to tug that out before he could try to make it up the few steps and out of this hell once and for all. Homeless, friendless, he would rather live on the street than do this ever again. He'd die in the streets before he gave up any more time to this torture chamber. He had no idea what sick games that bastard was playing - but he wanted out now. 

 

He tried to raise his right hand, minor success but numbness in his fingers mingled with the burning pain in his wrist and he knew it would be useless. He was barely aware it was in the air let alone what his fingers were doing. He tried to shut his fingers into a fist, and managed to close his index finger, leaving the rest half curled. He moaned in pain, sinking his teeth into his tongue and trying not to make any more noise. If Ramsay was upstairs he might come down if he thought Theon had woken up. Paranoia ebbed into his thoughts.  


 

Maybe this was part of the trap. 

 

** X **

 

6:35 She’s looking around, she’s waiting for somebody. Her drink is half full and she’s twirling the straw through it, mixing the clear and the red that seem to separate as soon as she stops stirring.This is her third.   


 

Her eyes are everywhere and nowhere at once. She’s glancing at the bar for a face she thought she might have seen moments ago to no avail. Then she’s looking at the tables, searching for a needle in a haystack. There are probably only ten or fifteen other people in the crowded room at all. It’s not hard to take inventory and know that  _ he  _ isn’t one of those people. He’s young, he’s reckless, he’s always late. She tells herself these things over and over on repeat in her mind. Her eyes settle on the door which she watches like a hawk. Her nails drumming on the wood table top. Her sneaker tapping against the floor in rhythm with the country music that fills the smoky bar. 

 

** X **

 

6:41 He’s sitting at the bar, watching her watch the room. His eyes linger on her figure; not terrible,he thinks. The fact that he can picture her in his mind covered in nothing but a thin satin sheet helps. She looks like one of those athletic kinds of girls, the ones who could bend her legs in unfathomable positions. He wouldn’t mind seeing just how much he can bend her in two, then three. In some part of his mind he’s folding her up smaller and smaller like a napkin until just like her brother - she’s gone.  

 

His fingers leave little swirls and whorls on his now warming glass of cheap beer. Wrapped around. Unwrapped. Playing with his own phone, pushing numbers and then hitting more and never calling. He dials a few numbers and never presses send. He leaves a message on a fake answering machine. He can feel her eyes watching him, just for a moment. 

 

Dark brown eyes settling on his figure, dark jeans, dark jacket, dark hair, dark shrouding him like a cloud. She’s looking back at the door. She’s not interested yet. She will be. 

 

** X **

 

The thought caused him to stop for a moment, and just inhale in that raspy wheezing way he could manage. Even if it was a trap he couldn’t afford to ignore it. He needed to try god damn it. Then he stops again. If it **is** a trap he'll be fucked. Royally fucked this time. He knows what Ramsay could do, what he has done. It's very possible he might not make it out of this room alive if it's a trap. He shakes his head. A coffin would be better than whatever he's doing now.   


 

His left hand, clumsy and awkward in new movements inched towards his right foot, which was now tucked just under his left knee. If he could stand up he could move, he wouldn’t even need his hand. He could find a doctor, a clinic, or he could wrap it in sticks and bark and leaves outside and live like fucking Tarzan. It didn’t matter anymore. He just needed to get up already. He gritted his teeth and tried to focus through the haze in his eyes on his five toes and the fleshy arch of his foot. 

 

His fingers brushed the bottom, inching towards that fresh incision. He hissed as he made contact, a gentle touch of fingers to glass, now broken into more pieces and piercing the pad of his thumb. He could feel the drop of red oozing on his finger. Could smell his own sweat and fear and anxiety. Now or never, he wrapped his fingers around the splintered piece of glass he had found and yanked. 

 

** X **

 

6:58. She’s tired. Her eyes are narrowed, she’s angry as well. She knew this would happen. This is what always happens. _I need you. Help me. I love you sister. Please meet me. Please talk to me. I’ll change_. Then he’s gone like a puff of smoke and those words are wind. This is the same story every few months. She can’t even think about what the truth it. After all she had just spoken to him, just received his message a few days ago.  She had been nervous for a few moments because of her other brother - her _responsible_ brother’s accident. Then she thinks otherwise. He’s done this before. Left her up for night upon night to worry just because he discovered something better to do. 

 

She wants to leave, she inches to the end of the booth. Her watch already says 7:00 and her phone shows no new messages. She brings up a local news page and sees no sudden car accidents, no bus explosions or taxi meltdowns. She hears no sirens in the distance. Her email is empty of everything but spam. She cleans out the spam folder while planning to escape in a few moments. 

 

Uncalled for, she thinks. This whole night. Then a dark shape slips in across from her. She looks up - but it’s not him. 

 

“Hi, I was just wondering if I could buy a beautiful woman like yourself a drink.” A smile - all teeth. Perfect white standing out against his full lips. His voice is like chocolate, silky and smooth and it seems too practiced to be real. She can’t picture this voice being used to answer telemarketers on the phone or order a burger and fries at a fast food place. Dark curly hair falling against his eyes. Those eyes that are sparkling with something, something she can’t put her finger on. 

 

She wants to say no, but he’s there and Theon isn’t. So she nods, she’s already out. Why not.

 

** X **

 

7:41. He brings back a vodka and cranberry juice. Then a rum and coke. Then a screwdriver. A beer. A plate of chicken tenders. Another rum and coke. Bloody mary. She can drink like her brother. He slips into the booth each time, watching her watch him again.  She takes shots the way other women sip at lemon water.

 

“Arn’t you going to have anything?” 

 

“I’m not the drinking type exactly.”

 

“You came to a bar….”Her words trail off as she tips her head towards the slightly fuller room around them. Now a few college boys, a few construction workers, a handful of the same seasoned women you can find in any dive. 

 

“I heard they had great chicken here. I was not disappointed.” 

 

“No?” She sloshes her drink as she tries to sip a tequila shot between bites of french fries. “Well that makes one of us.”

 

Ramsay gives her a sympathetic look. It says  _ tell me all about it . _ It screams  _ I care about your life and your problems . _ It always has worked. Tonight it will work again. He’s being her therapist and she will owe him. 

 

“See, my asshole fucking brother - he’s suppose to meet me here.” She cracks her knuckles, trying to sober up? It fails and her words spill out of her.  “He’s been AWOL for months. He’s suppose to be living with his friend, but who knows where the hell that is, or who the hell that is, or what the hell is going on. He’s got no job, not that I know of. I mean he’s still my little brother and I’ll love him til I die, I will, it’s just he’s being a fucking cunt because my mom’s been sick and my other brother got into this wicked car accident on Valentine’s day and it’s just all been so much - “ She doesn’t even seem to stop for air. Maybe these Greyjoys are part fish, requiring alcohol in their gils instead of water since it seems like neither of the two Ramsay has met thus far require oxygen all the time. 

 

Ramsay nods and listens and then tunes out. He does know what a cunt Theon can be. He had to clean his favorite boots due to Theons little need to rebel. Ramsay acts as this loving caring guy who really wants to hear all about the things in your life you need to vent about.  Which is just what Asha decided she needed that night. 

 

** X **

 

Theon; leaving bloody footprints on each and every stair, tries to walk up the steps sideways. Unstable on his feet at best he needs the railing which is only on his right side. Therefore he needs to hold onto it with his left hand and somehow still move upstairs as silently as possible. 

 

The steps are slippery with crimson, as he inches up one more, then one more, then one more. His face is a mask of concentration in a study of purples and blues and yellows.  It must take him at least 40 minutes to get up the steps. The glass thrown to some far corner of the room, his eyes aching from the strain of having to look directly at anything. He inches closer and closer to the door keeping him from his freedom.  He holds his breath and tightens his functional knuckles around the railing and pushes himself just a bit more.

 

** X **

 

9:29. “You know, I feel like you’ve really helped me tonight, like we’ve really connected. What did you say your name was again?” Her words are slurred all over the place. At the start of the night he had simply said Jon. He hadn't had a reason for a name, just picked one out of the air.  Now she was gone, glasses were lined in front of her. She would never remember, or recall, or even make the connection. 

 

“It’s Ramsay. Ramsay Bolton.”  Her eyes clear for a moment, like she knows. This name is familiar to her. She can’t place it. It’s somebody she’s never met, somebody she doesn’t know first hand but somebody has said these names together to her before.  She nods, as if taking it all in as her vision clouds again. Her eyes glassy and reddening squint at the subject before her.  

 

“Did you used to know my brother - “  Can she really put it together? “Rodrik? Your name sounds kinda familiar. Maybe work with him or something? Greyjoy?” She’s gone. 

 

“Nope, doesn’t ring a bell, I’m not from around here. I’m just passing through.” He chuckles. Her lips pucker like she’s tasting something sour. Her eyes roll.  She’s ready. 

 

** X **

 

When he finally reaches it he’s ecstatic. As much as he can be under the circumstance. He’s shaking and moaning under his breath and every other inhale and exhale is spent cursing somebody or something. Ramsay. Roose for fathering a bastard. Ramsay’s nameless faceless mother for letting something so terrible grow inside her for months. The inventor of steps and glass and god himself. Then his hand is on the cool handle, he’s fingering the round metal with his good hand, trying so hard to balance for one minute. His right hand hanging uselessly at his side, throbbing and needing his attention. 

 

The turns the handle. It won’t budge. It’s locked. He screams.

 

And miles away from where Theon collapsed on the stairs, nursing his bleeding feet, babying his snapped wrist, and screaming mindlessly his sister lets out the same kind of scream. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got roped into working just about every day since January 1st. So been a bit busy. Hope this makes up for it.


	29. Breakfast in Bed.

 

He was halfway down the stairs, two twin streaks of blood had marked his progress from the chair in the center of the room, to the far corner, to the stairs and upwards. Glass littered the basement in shards and chunks and minute pieces. I chuckled, looking at him, sprawled, spent, exhausted. He was hanging off the second top step and I was sure he was going to fall if I didn’t step in. If he had thought he could make it out because of an unlocked door he was wrong. 

 

It didn’t matter. He hardly budged when I dragged his sleeping torso down the rest of the steps. I must have left him here for at least a day or so. He seemed no worse for the wear than when I carefully untied him and left him one bottle of water, tucked under the third stair. If I had gotten caught up - and I nearly had, I didn’t want him to dry out down here like some old sea sponge. I had been half tempted to call Ben from the motel and ask him to stop by and check on my precious cargo in the basement. The only thing stopping me was knowing my boys traveled in a pack and I couldn't tell what they were going to do without me here to call it quits.I shook off the thoughts, what was done was done and everything was in almost in place.  


 

I hooked my hands under his shoulders and tugged him down the remaining steps making a mental note to clean all the blood off the floor. I do love a clean playroom. 

 

I propped him against the wall while I ran upstairs - the door unlocked and open no less and sleeping beauty oblivious downstairs. Just a few footsteps away from getting out. Today was a special day. I had no idea how long it had been since he last ate - really and truly ate. I only had him downstairs for four days now. I had slipped him some water a few times, but hadn’t given him any food and wasn’t sure if he had even eaten the day I brought him down. 

 

I hummed while I fried eggs, sang a few lines to an old song I had stuck in my head since yesterday while I dipped bread in eggs and powdered sugar. I threw bacon into a pan and went back to humming, listening for any signs of my guest awaking in the basement.  I stuck the remaining slices  of bread in the toaster and waited until they were golden brown, exactly the color he loved. I had seen him consume entire loafs of bread over the past months. I knew just what his favorite was. Pouring half a cup of milk over some processed cereal that I couldn’t remember buying, and adding a glass of orange juice, apple juice, and grapefruit juice to a tray I was setting up. He would have his choice.  Maybe he would drink them all. I hoped so.  


 

Once everything was finished I didn’t even bother cleaning up - it could wait. Chores were easier to complete while content. It would be so much more pleasant  to have to do all the things _he_ would have done for me if he wasn't being so insolent. I felt things would change after our little morning chat I had planned.  

 

I tip toed down the steps like a child giving his mother a breakfast in bed  and he was still exactly where I had left him. His head lolled against his chest, nodding in time with his labored breathing. I would have to make sure his lungs weren’t punctured, but that would come later. 

 

I set the tray down on the steps and picked him up, lifting his arm around my shoulder and dragging him to the chair, which sat demanding a body in the middle of the room. In that moment it reminded me of a monster - waiting for a body to be placed inside it’s waiting open mouth. A victim to sacrifice. 

 

I only had to put a few straps in place. His right arm was useless, and his left - well he would need that for breakfast. So the chest and leg restraints locked into place instead. He wouldn’t be thrilled.

 

I shook him, grabbing his shoulders and twisting him a bit.

 

“Wake up.” 

 

** X **

 

Even with every painful inhale and exhale I could smell something delicious. I thought about cartoons, the fresh baked pie with that steam coming off it that tickled the nose of everyone in 30 miles. I sniffed the air like a dog, getting a painful shock to my nose, but still inhaling the mouth watering aroma of fresh cooked food. My stomach roared like a bear, my mouth quivered.  


 

I cracked my eyes open and he was there; kneeling right in front of me, his hands on my shoulders. 

 

“Good morning!” He beamed, looking thrilled. His smile was so bright it hurt to look at. My eyesight still dim around the edges and his face taking up every inch of my sight. I nodded, but I had no idea what was good about it. I felt awful, every inch of my body was aching and throbbing. I was too tired, too drained to speak. I couldn’t insult him even if I wanted to and my mouth refused to do anything but slobber at the smell of food still drifting through the air. 

 

“I have a surprise for you. Today is a special day” He vanished and I realized I was back. If I ever left at all, I thought. The imagines of picking glass from my feet and trekking up the steps seemed so far away it could have been imagined.  I felt icy fingers in my stomach turning my mouth acidic. Nothing good happened from being down here with him, especially when I couldn’t move. My arms were free, but my right wasn’t working, still. It never would at this point, I had no idea why I kept trying. Before I could explore anything else he was back in my sight carrying a tray that seemed even too large for him.

 

It was stacked with every kind of breakfast food I could think of. French toast, pancakes, juice, ham and bacon and sausage dripping with gravy. My mouth ached, every drop of liquid in my body pooled in my mouth. 

 

“Well, don’t just look at it, help yourself.” He placed the tray in front of me, balanced on the arm rests. I looked at the fork and knife sitting untouched on the right side. Our eyes met and something clicked. 

 

“Oh, silly me. I forgot about - “ he looked at my wrist, still bent so unnaturally I couldn’t even look at it anymore. “Well, here.” He placed the silverware in my left hand and I tried so hard to make it work. I managed to fork up a sliver of a pancake before I dropped the utensil  into my lap and couldn't reach it. 

 

I was starving and beyond manners. I attacked the plate with my fingers, dripping my functioning digits through syrup and butter and shoveling the food into my mouth until I felt I was going to burst like a ripe grape. My hand wrapped around the glasses, shaking as I missed my mouth and drenched myself. I tried again and managed to swallow a bit this time. My mouth was always soaked, pain from my missing teeth didn’t slow me. I  felt blood pooling near my tongue and I swallowed the iron with pancakes and orange juice like it was part of my feast. 

 

He didn’t hit me, or scold me, or anything really. He just watched, every time I looked at him he wiggled his fingers like he was telling me to go on. 

 

“Eat your fill, I won’t be mad with what’s left over. I’ll give it to the girls.” He said, his voice so low and soft if I closed my eyes I could almost forget who he was, and what the situation was. 

 

All that was left were a few scraps, some juice, half the milk  - a few small things over the tray and he shook his head, but his lips were broken with a grin. 

 

“Damn, I guess you were hungry. Guess it’s just dog food for them then. I’ll be right back.”

 

He was gone, and I was alone - as if I could leave before he came back. As if I had a choice.

 

** X **

He'd be sick and I knew it would be sooner rather than later with what  I was about to show him. I slipped my shoes on after I threw the tray in the sink for later. I walked around outside, enjoying the cool air on my skin. I took my time with my pups. I always did.

 

I really enjoyed them, their obedience, the excited way they would stand up and wait for me expectantly, the way the craved being near me when I let them out. I knew I would have another perfect pet sitting in my basement very soon.

 

 

 


	30. A Special Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning, things get graphic. I have no idea where it came from because I've never written something like this exactly, but it happened.

 

 

 

He came back downstairs some time later. Time loses meaning when you have nowhere to go, nothing to do, nothing to even count the seconds with. Sometimes I could count heartbeats and wonder how many occur in a minute. How many happen in an hour, a day.  I was up to six thousand two hundred and eight when he returned. 

 

“Do you remember what I said earlier?”

 

I thought back, what had he said, about the girls maybe? My lips opened and  I couldn’t recognize my own voice flowing from my mouth. 

 

“Giving my scraps to the dogs?” I asked, each word coming out sounding awkward. He shook his head, his eyes narrowing just a bit but the smile still plastered on his face. 

 

“No, before that.” 

 

I thought for a moment, then shook my head. 

 

“Good morning?” I tried, halting and broken sounding even in my mind. He looked disappointed now. The ice in my stomach spread upwards into my chest. My breathing stalled. I wanted nothing less than some kind of punishment right now. I ached everywhere and the thought of his fists or the knife against any inch of me caused a shiver to run through me.   


 

“No. You’re going to have to listen closer if you want to continue to have treats like this.” He said, looking at my fingers still sticky with juice and jam. 

 

I nodded because I couldn’t think of anything to do other than agree. I was tired. So tired of being beaten to shit. One more fist to the face would crumple my skull. 

 

“I told you today was special. Can you guess why?” 

 

I thought again, and shook my head. I had no idea. Was it his birthday? His father’s birthday? My birthday? Did somebody die? Get married? My head filled with possibilities. He was already looking agitated and I did not want to push him any further. 

 

** X **

 

His face was downright painful to look at and shook his head. He was awful lucky that I was feeling generous. He tried to lick his lips before he drew his tongue back. His eyes met the ground before coming back to rest on my face expectantly. 

 

He was already getting timid. Very good. A few hours alone would do that - especially after the ordeal he’d been through. This lightened my spirits a bit, putting the bounce back in my step as I raced back to the steps. I  touched his laptop, the one I had stolen so easily. The one he barely missed. I walked back, so he could see what I had.   
  


 

With eyelids as puffy as his looked his eyes couldn’t get wide, but he did get this shocked look on his face. It sort of registered, that it was his. It kind of clicked in his head I had something to do with the computer. But he didn’t know what. His voice surprised me.

 

“You...you found my laptop.” Was he really so simple.

 

“I suppose you could say that….” I trailed off, coming to a stop about a foot in front of him and crouching down. The position was uncomfortable to say the least, but I knew it would be worth it - to watch his face.  I had already watched the video twice, so I knew what happened exactly when. I wanted to see what he looked like when he caught on. That would be so much better than just viewing something I was already there for to begin with. 

 

I used my knees as a makeshift table, opening the computer and turning it towards him. He looked confused at best - that emotion coming clear through his battered mug. 

 

“I just want to show you a little something.” I clicked a few keys and pulled up a video file with a timestamp of just a few hours ago. I had driven home for three hours straight just so I could do this. My eyes felt red and swollen inside my skull but sleep would come later.   


 

“Watch,” I said, clicking play on a video that started off pitch black, but my words were wasted. I already knew he couldn’t look away if he wanted to. 

 

** X **

 

Why the hell was he showing me a video. It didn’t really matter. Nothing I could watch could put my mind out of this place, this situation. I guess I still wanted to see what he thought was so important so I just sat there, eyes fixed on the screen while the video started. 

 

For the first few seconds it was black. I couldn’t tell what I was even watching, there were giggles, a faint moan I thought. Then after a few seconds a light clicked on and  _ he _ was there, filling up the whole screen. His face bobbing over the screen and his duplicate under his chin, both watching me with the same set of eerie eyes. Then video Ramsay - past Ramsay I guess, grinned at me. I felt a burn in my throat, all that food at once and I was feeling uneasy. 

 

Why did he have this on my computer, why did he take my computer - what the fuck was I even watching. I made eye contact with him over the screen but he nodded his head down and I was stuck again, transfixed and watching. 

 

He was in a room, something that looked like a hotel or motel. Probably motel. It looked cheap. It was nowhere I’d seen. And as he - past Ramsay, backed away from the laptop I could see he was shirtless, then he was naked. Completely bare from head to toe. Disgusted, I looked at his face, but he was eying me expectantly. 

 

“Watch.” He hissed, I forced my eyes back to the video and felt heat rise in my face. I’d seen plenty of people naked - guys and girls, this was different somehow. I was still stripped myself, which didn’t help - but normally a person feels more vulnerable when you take every piece of clothing away. Ramsay wasn’t like that at all. He looked more in control. Every muscle of his body seemed to ripple with power and his pallor seem to absorb all the light in the room. Maybe it was just my eyes going again. 

 

Then I noticed another thing, small and meaningless almost, but I knew otherwise. His chest was covered in a similar crosswork of faded pink, his thighs, his arms, his stomach. The muscles seemed to make some stand out and others fade, but they were there in varying shades of pink and red. 

 

My mouth was going dry, and I had no idea where this was going. 

 

Then he turned around, finally taking his eyes off the camera. I felt a minute of relief, it was like he had been holding me there, but  then I noticed  there was somebody else in the room with him. A shape, dark and squirming in the bed. Some woman. Also completely naked, but wrapped with sheets and her long dark hair covered her face and most of her chest. 

 

He got into bed, top of the covers, unwrapping her from her sheets, she kicked and giggled and moaned when his fingers stroked between her thighs. Her body arching, chest thrust up to the air. Darkness covered them and all I could see where the shapes wiggling together on the bed, but my mind did the work for me. I thought of all the times I had touched a woman, any woman in that feathery soft skin. I inhaled, forgetting for a minute this was Ramsay, forgetting for a minute anything as I felt the blood rush from my face. I leaned forward, watching him - only this dark shape lean between her legs, his face disappeared and she screamed. Her scream was so shrill it hurt my ears but I couldn’t block it out.

 

Memories rushed as I watched him work between her legs, that tangy taste that must be on his tongue. The warmth flooding of her pussy, the way she latched her legs around his neck and the way her toes curled as she  was grinding her hips against his face.

 

She cried out once, then he was up, and she was sloppily crawling towards him, then it was his turn. He was already hard - I tried not to think about it as I felt my own hardness ache, untouched and ignored in my shorts.I wasn’t sure when that even occurred, just knowing my own cock was hard and ready and oozing droplets of precum all over my only intact clothing.  I closed my eyes and swallowed hard, but when I opened my eyes I couldn’t move them off the screen. Not even an inch. 

 

She swallowed his whole length, and I thought for a fleeting moment of how big he was, I pushed it out of my head and she repositioned herself and his cock vanished between her lips, her jaw worked, her head bobbed and her legs remained spread. Now I could see her cunt, wet and glistening. I could only think of how amazing it would feel, how warm it would be to thrust myself into her. Ramsay could have been anybody, I didn’t care at all about him anymore. If I was paying better attention I could have seen him still grinning, with those eyes piercing me through the past. 

 

But I was transfixed by the dark soaking curls that were flooding my mind. His pale fingers reached down her back, and then slipped inside her, I could hear her gasp - moan - then continue. Her head facing away from me, so I wasn’t plagued with watching his cock popping out of her mouth. I could only see his finger getting slicker and slicker with her juices. By this point I didn’t care if somebody was in the room with me, I was drooling and my pants were tenting.

 

He stopped her, and flipped her over. Her face to camera, but her hair wild, all I could see was her open mouth - as glistening wet as her cunt. My heart was pounding in my chest. He was behind her and I couldn’t see everything happening, but I could tell, I could see her hands shaking and then one grabbing her chest, kneading a nipple between two fingers as she rocked back into him. 

 

I didn’t even noticed the eye contact. All of it. In real life and on the camera. This dark haired girl could have been a porn star. She bucked her hips against his, she screamed - she yelled his name, she dug her fingers into the covers. She rolled onto her back and latched onto him, pushing her feet around his hips and he fucked her. 

 

It wasn’t soft, it wasn’t romantic, but it was a lot more normal than what I thought he would be capable of. She wasn’t tied up, or begging or bleeding, and she seemed to enjoy it. Her nails dug into his skin and she hissed and writhed under him. One arm held him up, the other raked his nails down her chest, between her tits, down to her navel. Her back arched and she pushed against him even harder. Then she rolled again. 

 

Now she was on top. She had gained control, her face down - looking only at him. It was like she was transfixed on him while I couldn’t take my eyes off her and his eyes were burning a hole through me. Her hands, bunched into fists on his chest as she bounced on top of him. I could hear her voice, slurring curses and praises and encouragement. Something nibbled at me about that voice. The soft lilting way she hummed against him, it was familiar somehow. Then he thrust into her, once - so hard she stopped where she was and became frozen, her thighs twitching on either side of him. She sighed a heavy sigh, and ground herself against him and I knew this was the pivotal moment. 

 

He was finished, and so carefully he reached up to her face, and pushed her hair back. My cock craved to see who she was. I strained against my bonds to see her face. It was too dark to see anything but that perfect mouth, pouting and glistening. My stomach was already rolling back and forth - like it already knew the truth before anything else would figure it out even as my eyes strained. My mind screamed turn back, this is bad - terrible. I wouldn't listen.   


 

Looking back I should have thought about this. Why would Ramsay ever show me this. This video did nothing but make me want this woman with every fiber of my being, but I didn’t resent him for having her. Why would he want me to see this. Why would he flash this in front of my face. Why would he have to prove anything to me?  


 

Her hair off her face, Ramsay  - past Ramsay, video Ramsay, reached to the side table and turned on the bedside lamp. 

 

I vomited, everywhere. It was in my mouth and out before I knew what was happening, Ramsay - real present right here Ramsay had thought about this and moved just an inch out of the way, avoiding the splash radius. The acid burned those holes in my mouth that were formerly homes to teeth. That grin was plastered on his face, I knew it but I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t bring my eyes to look at the computer as I heard the moaning of my sister start again. I could only hear the blood pounding in my ears, my heart crazy in my chest and I felt dizzy. I couldn’t breath again, and very faintly I could hear that soft voice say, 

 

“Well, let’s watch it again.” 


	31. Understanding

 

He had fought me for a bit on that, but not as long as I would have thought. I had half hoped for a bit more.   


 

“What did you do to her?” “Where is she?” “Why did you do this?” “I’ll fucking kill you.” He growled and hissed and spit with fury. His face turned purple, then white.   


 

“She liked it.” I said. It was the truth. She had liked it. Had given me her number, let me film it. She purred my name and clawed my back and asked for more.  I could strip off my layers and show him just how much she had liked it. 

 

Better yet I could call her. I could dial her number and hear her moaning into the phone and telling me how fantastic last night was. She was in love. Somehow she'd learn who I was eventually but it wouldn't matter. She was already too far in.   


 

He wouldn’t meet my eyes. His face was pale, letting those darkened areas stand out even more. 

 

He knew it was the truth.

 

** X **

 

Something inside me snapped like a guitar string.  It was like there was some kind of organ inside me, like my heart or lungs getting tighter and tighter and tighter until it burst. I felt numb, inside and out. It happened somewhere between the yelling and screaming and it just passed until I felt sore. It wasn’t her fault. She was tricked somehow. She fell into his trap but it was because she didn’t know. Then that passed.  I was getting further away from myself every second that passed. Upwards and out of this house, out of the atmosphere.   


 

He looks at me, grinning. He whispers. 

 

“I killed my brother.” It means nothing anymore. He continues like I’m not a balloon floating up and up and up until I’m near the clouds. He's looking through me and almost drooling as he confesses.  


 

“I wrapped my hands around his throat and killed him. It was the best moment of my life. Until this.  My father took me back. He’s probably thankful now. Just imagine what I can do to that cunt - “ He pauses. He’s waiting for me to say something, waiting for me to open my mouth and scream at him. I don’t. I don’t think I could if I wanted to. I’m too far away to move a muscle. I'm barely there as realization comes slowly.   


 

He laughs.

 

“Nothing to say? No defense for your slut of a sister?” He’s trying to get me to say something, anything. He’s trying to get me to beg him to not hurt her and I want him to stay away from her. But nothing I can say will make him happy really. It's clicking into place. Words are wind. If I beg and plead he might still do it anyway.  I don't know what  _it_ is exactly but it could be anything.  I know what he wants. I’m starting to put it all together. The games, the chair, the way he keeps purring about me being good. He doesn't want words, he wants deeds. He wants me.   


 

I’m somewhere in space, darkness on every side of me but I can still pinpoint my body down on Earth, tied down and sick looking. There's a thin string attached from me, like a nerve pinging and causing me to look down at the body stagnant and stuck. He’s looking at me, waiting on my response. He has her. She thinks he’s lovely. She has no idea. And I know what I have to do to help her. 

 

He speaks.

 

I listen.

 

He asks. 

  
I nod. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short, but another short one will be coming up soon (maybe tomorrow night?)


	32. Would Have/Could Have/Should Have

 

“Take these.”  His hand is out. My hands are finally free. It’s been days and I’ve been down here, free for the most part. I’m sitting on my ass in the cleanest corner of the basement watching him, but not saying a word. I can’t help lowering my eyes as I reach awkwardly towards him. It's automatic... _almost._

 

My left hand fumbles for whatever he’s got in his palm. I’m still not used to it. Using this hand that for long was just there. Every time I touch anything it with these new strange fingers it shocking. I half expect to grasp nothing, clutching at the air and I always feel a jolt when I gain contact. Lightening flashes when my digits close on what he’s got held out for me. I don’t recognize what it is until I look at them.

 

I look at him questioningly. He doesn't like when I speak lately. He’s said he’s had a pounding headache. A headache that intensifies when he spots me. I still speak, but sparingly. After those first few hours of terrifying numbness I thought I was stupid. I tried to defy him, but he pulled out his phone. He pulled her number up and started to type a message.

 

He was asking her to meet him tonight - and then I stopped. Now I tried to be quiet as much as possible.

 

His eyes settled on my face, I hold his gaze for a moment, just long enough for him to spill out some meaningless words.

 

“Don’t worry about what they are.”

 

I cocked an eyebrow - as best I could while my face was still unnaturally swollen. He shook his head.

 

“If you think I’m going to kill you, don’t you think I could do it in a much more _enjoyable_ way than slipping you some pills?”

 

I guess he had a point. I could list for hours the ways he could kill me and probably at the very end, the absolute bottom of the list was poisoning, but it would be slower and I would never know about it. Maybe he would slip arsenic in my food like we were some fairytale from the sixteen hundreds.

 

My only problem was; setting the possibility of toxicity on the back-burner, there was no way I could swallow them.  I looked at him again, but he was stuck on this one. For the first time in hours I opened my mouth.

 

“Water?” I asked, the only thing I could think of. Something to get these down.

 

He jumped up and rushed off, up the steps and opening the door with a cry of “be right back” thrown over his shoulder. He left the door wide open.

 

Sometime ago I would have crawled up those steps any way I could, I could have reached the open door and dragged myself on broken bones as far away as I could. I would kill myself to get away if I could. No, rephrase that. I would have killed myself to get away if I could have.

 

He came back a few minutes later with a plastic cup - one of those Disney ones you used to get at McDonalds a bunch of years back. Sloshing water around as he walked down the steps, shutting the door behind him, he grinned from ear to ear.

  
“Oh you do deserve this.” He said, holding onto the cup and crouching down to eye level. I slipped the capsules in my mouth and took hold of the plastic cup with my shaking left hand. I hadn’t moved an inch.

 

 


	33. Fixable

 

 

“Nobody wants to play with broken toys." 

 

I looked at him, he was sitting on the bottom step, just where I had asked him to sit. I only needed to ask twice. Much better than asking a thousands times, but still not where I wanted to be - we were getting there. Even if it took one agonizing step at a time nobody could deny they were in fact steps.

 

His face was still sore looking. His nose seemed bent out of shape, probably forever with a nasty bump knocking his face off kilter. One eye still had that painful bloodshot glaze to it, his lips were puffy and with his missing teeth always grazing against the sensitive skin, would remain puffy for a long while.  He was still pockmarked with wounds, open and closed both. More bruises than holes I must say.  I was having a bit of fun playing this game for now.

 

His eyes were down, resting on my boots, but I knew he was listening. His back was rigid and he wanted to know where I was taking things.

 

“So I called a doctor.”

 

His chest heaved so hard I thought he would fall over. I thought something burst in his brain and he was going to keel over and die, leaking blood all over the steps one last time for good measure.One more middle finger to me before he shuffled off the planet.

 

His eyes turned up to my face. He looked scared, hopeful, worried, nervous. A thousand thoughts flickered across his skull, some easier to read than others. I was sick of standing so  I sat next to him and felt him shrink away. It didn’t matter just yet.

 

“He’s a family friend. I thought perhaps he could help you with that little bit of unpleasantness.”  I looked at his useless right hand. It did look awful. I had no idea what had happened but knew if I didn’t get somebody to do something about it it would be completely useless forever. I couldn’t stand somebody else breaking my toys and not fixing them. I was always the one stuck gluing the dismembered legs and arms back onto the plastic bodies. I had to wash up the stains.

 

“He’s going to be here in a few hours, so I thought we could get you upstairs and washed off and made presentable. He’s very understanding and he’s known me since - well since I was a child I think.” I had few memories of a child of going to doctors. My mouth would write the checks my body had to cash when my mother was miserable and she often didn’t care to get me fixed up. Sometimes over late night telephone calls money was wired, and I was sent to one doctor over and over again.

 

He popped muscles back in place, he set fractures, he treated burns and he kept his mouth shut. As I was reminiscing I saw his brow furrow. His mind trying to think of an escape plan, hoping this stranger would save him. There would be no luck with that, but I'd rather he just see firsthand. Disappointment towards the _good_ doctor's apathy would be much more rewarding later than in this moment when it would flash and vanish. Later he'd still think he'd have a chance and the hope would drain slowly.

 

“What did my boys used to call you?” I asked, changing the subject sharply. Steering this conversation into a sudden left turn and yet knowing full well what it was just wanting it to come from his mouth.

 

His words were as clumsy as he was becoming. His voice cracked like a preteen.

 

“They used to call me reek.” It was just above a whisper. I clapped my hands together.

 

“Well that name fits awfully well right now. I think I’ll keep it! It just suits you.” He glared at me through the dark pits around his eyes. I saw him shooting daggers without ever looking directly at me. Sidelong glances to kill. It made no difference now.

 

“Well, Reek, let’s get you upstairs.” I tugged on his shoulder, pulling him up. He was terrible on his feet. I’d have the doctor look at those too. Make sure he hadn’t fucked himself over ripping glass through tendons. He wobbled up the stairs with my help.

 

It had been at least two and a half weeks since he had been upstairs. His boxers were filthy, _he_ was filthy, how a person can become _so disgusting_ in a freshly cleaned basement is beyond me. He even had filth under his nails.

 

**X**

 

He tugged me into the bathroom, and I teetered behind him. I was still awed over how gentle the carpet had been under my feet. I was wondering if it had always been that soft and I just had never noticed before as  he started the shower - not a bath this time. He pressed one hand into the blasting stream and pulled it out immediately.

 

“Just right.” His hand was turning a furious shade of red and I could see the steam already covering the bathroom window in mist. I looked down, trying not to struggle when he tugged my underwear off. Like a statue I stood there as his fingers worked on my only inch of clothes left. They pooled around my ankles and I struggled out of them. In the time it had taken me to step carefully out of my last shred of humility he had gotten into the shower, naked. When he took of his own clothes I'd never know. They were tossed on the counter top by the mirror, my shorts on the floor beneath them.

 

I looked away, my face turning the same shade that his chest was.

 

“Well, get in while the water's warm.”

 

“But...you’re  - “

 

“Hush. Do you really think you’re capable of washing yourself up properly? Honestly, I think you don’t even want to try to get clean.”

 

I rocked from foot to foot wanting desperately to walk back downstairs. Things down there were more clear cut. He asked questions, I answered. He gave me tasks. I did them. I bit my lip for my sister. But this. This was something else.

 

“Get. In.” He hissed. I thought of his phone - on the kitchen table, in his pants pocket, charging in his bedroom. I wasn't sure where it was, I could barely remember where I was. How fast could I get to it. How fast could I get out of the house. He would catch me and drag me back. Or he’d let me run naked through the woods, while he called Asha from my phone. Message her online. 

 

I shuddered and stepped into the shower.

  


**X**

 

He took me in and I let him. His eyes scanned over my body and I pretended like I wasn’t paying any attention.  I felt his eyes like grubby needy hands grabbing every inch of me and I loved it. What must he have been thinking, that small boy years ago was all grown up.

 

I ran my hands through my hair and felt like it was enough. Enough games. The doctor really would be arriving soon and I did have to get my little mess all ready to meet and greet him.Silence was enough with the suspicious wounds he was coming to treat but being filthy was too much.

 

I reached out and pulled him closer to me - closer to the spray of scalding water and he only resisted slightly. I saw his lips tremble as he hung his head. I watched as his patchy beard scrapped against his chest. I had to get rid of that horrible thing growing on his face like moss. My hands played with his hair this time, soaking the greasy roots. One rinse cycle later he looked like a wet cat. Bones sticking out everywhere at all odd angles and this matted soaked mane covering his eyes. He looked so miserable I had to grab my sides and laugh so loud it rang through the bathroom acoustics.  He squinted against the sound bouncing off the walls and chewed his lips.

 

I brought my soapy hands up and massaged  his shoulders, his chest, his back. I remember what seemed like years ago running my hands over a body so similar to this one as it lay heaving just inches away.  This was better. So much more enjoyable and I relished every second of it. Every moment I felt him drawing back.

 

I wanted to wrap myself around him and never let go. I couldn’t. I had more important things to do right now.  It was so painfully boring to have him taken care of, but I didn’t like the thought of having a half functional pet. He turned the most delightful shade of red when my hands strayed past him hips, he bucked against me. I leaned against his ear.

 

“When you take a shower, do you just not clean every inch of yourself? From head to toe?” My lips grazed his ear. He shuddered between my arms and hung his head lower. His feet, probably killing him by now, were bleeding again. I had noticed the thin streaks of blood when he would move his feet, before they would get washed down the drain. He rocked back and forth, and he spoke against the water pouring down in his face.

 

“No, please.” I tisked, he was going to do this _now_. We were doing so well. He tried to sulk away from me and I wrapped my arm tight, playing with his hip bones. He pushed against me, trying so hard to get out, he whined in the back of his throat.

 

“You can pick, either I can clean you now, or I can punish you later.”

 

He bucked against me and I didn’t hold him this time. I let him press against my arm, then I let my arm drop. He had made his choice.

  
“Well I guess it’s time to get out since you refuse to wash that filth off you. I’ll get you some clothes.” I got out and wrapped a towel around myself, he stood there dripping wet with that limp hand covering himself.

 

 


	34. The Way He Looks at Me.

 

 

Theon Greyjoy stood in an oversized sweater and jeans that hung precariously off his hip bones,  Ramsay stood back and observed. Another player was among them, an older man with black hair peppered with grey and a close cut beard. His face seemed lined and older than his body by at least a few years but his eyes sparkled  behind wire rims with the same gleam found in the Bolton line.  


A lifetime of seeing and not telling, seeing and being unseen himself caused that.  He observed the sick deeds others, he did not partake or report. He fixed things as he could and let them be. He never called authorities. Not once. 

Qyburn. That’s what Ramsay called him. Not Doctor, or Mr., or Sir. No formalities for this man with just one name and a stethoscope around his neck like a noose. Theon knows instinctively that this man will be no help. Maybe he can set bones. Maybe he can stop pain. He can’t and will not protect Theon from further pain. He will not prevent anything.   


His face is a mask as he approaches. Theon watches, guarded but willing to accept the meager help he’s finally offered. With one look at his twisted appendage Theon understands. He holds out his broken bones as best he can for inspection. This wordless dialogue can go on forever. At least in that he feels some kind of kinship with the doctor who may not actually even be a doctor. It may just be a man with medical equipment at the ready. Amazon can supply truly anything these days.   


Finally the silence is broken. A voice filled with virility worms through this old man’s lips. 

“I can not fix this.” Theon’s heart sinks like a stone. Ramsay’s eyes widen. He stands more alert.

“What do you mean?” Ramsay never asks questions. He just phrases things expecting for you to clarify.   


“These bones have begun to mend.” There’s a peculiar wording to his few sentences. His mouth looks disappointed but his eyes show the truth. The glimmer grows.   


‘Well, what am I going to do then?” Ramsay barks, clearly not understanding what these words mean. Theon understands. His face - almost healed crumples. His eyes narrow and he chokes on the lump in his throat. 

“To rebuild we must destroy. To repair we must break down.” Where can you find somebody that talks like they’re at a Renaissance Fair. Where is this man even from? Is this normal for him? Theon lets these thoughts fill his mind to keep him from the thought of what he must do. 

Ramsay finally understands, his lips turning up and up and up until the grin splits his face into two  halves.  

“I  will return tomorrow at this time to begin to set the bones.” He begins to pick up his bags. He brought two in with all the things one _might_ need - yet he won’t be using yet. Ramsay walks him out. Theon stands perfectly still and prays he will pass out before his bones are shattered again. 

  
  


** X **

“Shhhh, stop that.”  I tried desperately to stop the never ending flow of tears I hadn’t even realized was coming out. My useless soon to be broken again arm up and twisted like it could some how protect me from what was coming. Would my father cry? Would he stand weeping and pitiful and at the complete mercy of any other human being. Not a human being, a fucking monster.Some fucking beast, the stuff of nightmares.   


“Please, no.” I whimpered. It was pathetic but I couldn’t stand the thought of new pain radiating in my arm again. Now it was a dull ache that could be ignored if I ignored my whole arm. Something blazing through my wrist again - I’d go crazy. 

“That is not an option. And do not say no to me again. You do not get to say no. Do you understand me?”

I nodded. I sucked in my breath and held it trying to steady myself and stop the shaking that was slowly overtaking my body. It wasn't working. I couldn't think of a time when this trick had worked.   


“Listen to me, you need this done. I can’t have you walking around like that -” He looked at my arm and looked away, back at me. “ So, you do not deserve any choice in the matter, but I will give it to you. Listen closely. We need to fix this. Would you like me to break it, or would you like the boys to?” It was like somebody had asked me which I would rather, be thrown to sharks or barracudas? Which one would stop. Which one would hurt me less. Who would be faster. 

The boys would probably be quicker, but they would never be happy that I was already on the mend from the previous beating. I could open my eyes, the dimness that clouded my vision for weeks was finally fading. My entire body wasn’t purple. There was no way they would be able to stop themselves.   


Ramsay might. He might be able to _just_ do what had to be done. But he would be slow. It would be torture. I knew what he was capable of and he could draw it out for a while I was sure. But would I be safe besides that? If I chose him maybe he would like that, that I only wanted him to hurt me. 

That was what made up my mind.That I was starting to see into his mind, see what he wanted. The wheels were spinning, now I had to act.   


“You.” I whispered.  His eyes lit up like a child on Christmas and I half expected this to be a trap question anyway.  There was no way he’d be pleased if I asked the boys to come back, even one of them over him. He was possessive and needy and jealous. The thought of anyone over him for any reason would be too much. The thought of _them_ was enough to cause my stomach to flip around and my head to spin anyway.  

“Just you. Please.” It came out so fast he might not have heard, but he did.  I know he did because he was waiting for those words for a long time. His lips turned up once more and he gazed at me in what I can only describe as longing. I shuddered. 

“If that’s how you want to play,” he purred. “Later.” 

  
Then he left. He walked out the front door like nothing had happened. He left me standing there just about ready to shit myself in terror with the door slamming in his wake.    


 

 

 


	35. When He Comes Back

 

 

When he comes back it’s late. He’s stomping around like he’s angry about something even though it seems like he should be thrilled. In a few hours somebody expects - actually wants my bones broken and he’s the only man for the job. At least that's what I shakily tried to promise him. I was terrified, but I was exhausted too. Far more exhausted than I'd been ever before in my life. Stress does that to people, or so I've heard...forever ago. I was almost too tired to care why he was pissed.  


 

I guess it might have to do with not having dinner ready. I kind of just curled up on the sofa and tried to sleep, tried to huddle in on myself and disappear. If I could melt into the cushions like his spare change I'd find a place between the springs and stay there forever. All my efforts were in vain because I was still where I originally laid down when he came back. He’d been gone for hours, at least it seemed like that, or minutes. Depending on what I was doing time sped past or slowed to a crawl.  I spent at least ninety paranoid filled minutes searching the house for a phone. Leaving was out of the question. I wouldn’t get anywhere, but calling somebody was well within reach. 

 

I ripped his office apart, but he had taken his cell. I wanted to smash my face against his desk for being so stupid. It was like things were slipping through the fissures in my skull and seeping back into the environment. I was getting  _dumber_ every day.  _Think, Theon_.  I demanded my mind to pay attention to me. Only me this time. There were no land lines. My cell was MIA and had been for weeks. An email would work, but his computer had a password. I tried just about everything I could, I dug through papers to find a scrap with a hint. Anything would do, random numbers or letters, a question, a word. No such luck. I tore through the rooms like the world’s most careful hurricane, going through everything quickly but putting things back and holding my breath every time I heard any kind of noise.I tugged books off shelves paging through for some kind of highlighted word or phrase, a torn napkin with anything written on it, but came up empty again and again. I tip toed through the house waiting for the door to slam open, the jaws of the trap to close around me, and _he_ would find me where I should not be, doing things I should not be doing and I would be in terrible trouble then.   


 

If he caught my trying to contact my sister, the police, my father, his father, anyone at all he would kill me. I knew it would be torture. They would never find my body, they would never know what happened, nobody would even care.   


 

So I held my breath and tore the house apart and put it back together and finally collapsed exhausted and terrified and completely drained on the couch at the top of the stairs. I didn’t sleep, I couldn’t even with the bags under my eyes from countless nights spent on the floor in the basement, even with my mind shutting down to darkness I couldn't really close my eyes.  I wanted to vanish, but I couldn’t do that either and when I heard his car door slam shut and the front door slam open then shut and then it was the  kitchen door slamming open and his boots storming through the house I shook.My brain rattled in my skull, blank and empty.   


 

He wasn’t pleased, I should have thrown something, anything together. Soup, salads, toast would have been better than nothing, but nothing was what was on the table. His footsteps pounding against the kitchen's floor, slamming open cupboards and cabinets until I thought his slamming would bring the house down. I wished it would. _Just this once, please god._ I tried to whisper but I couldn't get the words out.   


 

The house stood as it always did. I didn’t cry, not yet. I knew it would come when he would force my mending bones apart but for now I had a quiet dignity in the boney ball I had become on the cushions. Then he yelled. 

 

“Reek, my darling, wherever is dinner?” As if he were slamming drawers looking for a hidden casserole. Did he really think I had made steak and surprised him by hiding it inside the breadbox? 

 

_ Non existent _ .  I wanted to yell back.  _ And don’t fucking call me tha _ _t_. I would tack on as I waltzed downstairs with my hand that could open and close and the fifteen pounds of weight I had lost miraculously back on my body - making me look stronger and functional again. I would walk into the kitchen, pull out a knife and slit his throat and leave him on the floor gurgling in his blood. I would see it streaming out of his neck, the black stain that would seep into the floor forever and remain forever. His last words would be to curse me, or maybe to praise me for passing some kind of final test. 

 

His father would shake my hand and thank me. I’d get the keys to the city, I’d be on every talk show and could retire with the rest of my life to do whatever I wanted to do. I could see the headlines already.  

 

“Local Young Man Becomes Hero, Kills Monster. “

 

My mother would be able to go to any hospital she'd want with all the money I'd receive. She'd tack up my picture and nod at the nurses and say _Oh, yes. He's my son. I'm so proud of him._ I’d smile at the cameras, my arm around my sister who would be sobbing and so thankful to get me back and so terrified at how close she had been to being  - I swallowed hard as my brain turned dark again. I couldn’t even get myself to think what she was close to. Couldn’t imagine a world without Asha somewhere.   


 

I hadn’t even realized that I had gotten up from my spot and was making the careful trek downstairs. He called and I came and my stomach recoiled at the thought of me becoming exactly what he wanted me to be. Then I stopped thinking for a few moments, only concentrating on the plush carpet between my toes. My feet always pained me, and I imagined they always would. I was especially careful coming down the steps. Falling terrified me. I couldn't afford to break anything else or _he_ might take me out back and shoot me like a horse with a broken leg.   


 

 

I was in the kitchen before I knew it and I looked  to _him_ \- he was standing in the center of the kitchen just looking at the oven as if something would materialize. His head tilted towards me. I could not even get his attention when he was furious with me; unless he _wanted_ to pay attention to me. I imagined all the things I could say once I opened my mouth, how fast it would be for me to get to the knives. I was closer to the drawer than he was. I opened my mouth, the only thing that came out was, 

 

“I’m sorry.” 

 

 

 


	36. Who's getting scared now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four letter words are not Theon's strong suit.

 

Theon sat on the floor, was still sitting there when he heard the front doorbell ringing. Ramsay stood up first. Theon barely even registered the ring, just staring with his glassy eyes at the empty space before him.   


 

“Oh no, I wouldn’t want you lifting a muscle. You just wait here.”  He can hear the sarcasm dripping, but under that there’s something else, there’s a lilting quality to his voice that makes it seem like Ramsay knows something is going on. He always knows what's going on, and Theon never does. Ramsay knows what Theon's thinking before Theon can even form the thoughts. Theon rests against the dining room’s table. His back is digging into the oak leg when he hears voices.  Ramsay’s voice paired with another. It’s too far away for Theon to actually hear the conversation but he can smell something delicious, something that fills his mouth with saliva. He wants the delivery boy gone so he can beg properly for some food. 

 

Ramsay comes in with  pizza boxes, two stacked on top of each other and Theon’s mouth is watering, drool pouring over his lips. It’s been so long since he had real food. He could have eaten today while Ramsay was out - but he was neglecting his aching stomach. In his panic he thought only of escape. Now it’s in the front of his mind, growling like a monster under his thin skin.  It’s been weeks at least - the last full meal he recalls was breakfast and just thinking about that makes his stomach flip like an acrobat. Scraps and leftovers were what he lived on now. Maybe if he could just get one slice things would be easier. He would think clearer. He wouldn't be so damn stupid all the time with these dulled senses that did nothing for him but slow him down to a crawl.  


 

He sits straighter, hoping that Ramsay can see him - and he does. They make eye contact for all of five seconds before something takes over his sight. Ben, then Skinner come in. Just the two of them, but it’s enough. Ramsay takes his seat right next to Theon’s spot cowering on the floor. 

 

** X **

  
  


“But, you said - “ 

 

“I didn’t say anything. I asked you which you would prefer.”  I can’t believe he would do this, after me begging him to do it. I asked him please,  ** please ** do it. Break my hand. Smash it, do what you want just don’t let the boys do it. I couldn't let them touch me again, I would die. 

 

I’m completely sickened when I find myself inching closer to his leg, wanting him to  _ protect _ me from his friends as if he ever would. Part of me wants to reach out and touch him and make him realize I’m here, I asked for him but I’m shaking and terrified and I’m trying so hard to get behind him. I can hear the laugh almost out of his mouth. I inch closer to his leg, anxious and terrified. 

 

“What’s wrong? Scared of our delivery boys tonight?”  Everyone finds this hysterical but me and I press my back against the legs of his chair, keeping my eyes on the two creatures that fucked me up worse than anything I can ever remember. If they come near me...what would I do. What _could_ I do? Bite them? They'd smash more teeth out of my mouth. Kicking, clawing - those were just words to me now. I couldn't fight if I wanted to, and I didn't want to. I was too tired, too scared, too weak. I needed help. Needed protection.   


 

Ramsay says something I can’t really hear to Ben, who walks into the kitchen. Before he’s back out Ramsay turns his attention to me. 

 

** X **

 

“Get on your knees.” 

 

He’s shaking like a leaf but tries all the same. It's almost admirable how desperate he is. I can see his wide eyes getting damp, his teeth chattering in his mouth.   


 

“Now tell me what you want.”  

 

Sitting there just off to my side I can’t help myself, I’m throbbing just looking at how pitiful he is. I wonder if tonight is the night. How much is he willing to do. I'm sure with my two boys here he's willing to do whatever I want. _What do I want_ , I think and let my mind stroll slowly through options until I find the one I like best.   


 

“Please.”

 

It’s all that comes out. I try to give him enough time to form another word, but he just stops trying and just starts crying and saying please over and over like a broken record. I grab his scruffy chin between my thumb and fingers and pull him towards me, between my legs so he can’t see anything but me. He flinches when I tug on his mouth. It must still be sore with those holes the boys caused. I let my fingers play with the patchy hairs under his lip.   


 

“Please what?” 

 

“Pl-please, do-don’t let them.” He stops here this time, his sobs causing him to hunch over. His face a wet mess. If he can’t tell how hard I am just watching him he’s oblivious. 

 

“We will see. And I assume you want something to eat too. Even though you don’t deserve anything at all after the way you’ve been acting all day.” 

 

It is true. Somebody somewhere had said spare the rod and spoil the child. My little pet was too good for too long, he went without punishment but also without  as many tests as I would have liked and when I finally put something real in front of him he flinches back and hides. He can’t even make a proper dinner. I was seething but now it’s time to see what he’ll do to avoid what he thinks could be his punishment.I wouldn't let the boys have him again so soon anyway. They nearly ruined him last time, I would have to wait until he was in tip top shape before they could have a turn.  


 

Ben’s back, and drops off what I need on the table, just above my playthings little head. It’s so close if he turned around he would see what I had in store and he would piss himself. Not today. I stroke his head, meaning to calm him but he shudders and shivers and quakes under my touch.   


 

“Do you want to be good for me.”

 

His head nods so fast and so much I’m sure he’s going to break his neck. 

 

“And you’ll do what I ask without being a little bitch about it.”

 

Before he can nod Skinner interrupts, 

 

“Don’t call him that - gives a bad name to your girls." Ben chuckles. I shoot him a look that tells him if he speaks one more time he’ll be the one in the basement next. He shuts his mouth. Meanwhile there’s a head bobbing between my legs, reminding me of just what I want to put him to work doing.

 

** X **

 

“Put your hands on the ground.” I’m gritting my teeth because setting my wounded appendage down _anywhere_ is easier said than done, but I do it, because he asked. Because I’m desperate. Because I'm willing to try anything once. Because I need to save my skin. Because there are three psychopaths above me but only two have tried to actually _murder_ me. 

 

I’m sweating and gasping in pain and realize where this position puts me, leaning into his crotch - and my face turns beet red. Flaming, I can feel all the heat radiating off me, and I’m thinking this is part of the game. He wants me here to humiliate me but then he unzips and my terror becomes tangible. The grasp I had on reality is slipping through my fingers, and I'm moaning, this can not be happening, not to me. Should I just let the boys have the fun they want tonight?   


 

I can see the pink of his underwear, tight and straining against his - that’s another word I can’t think about. This thing in front of me, in front of my face desperate to get out, like some deep sea beast - slippery and pink and something no human should have to see. My mouth is dry and I’m choking just thinking about what’s coming.  His fingers are resting against his open zipper playing with it, his eyes are on the top of my head. He’s burning a hole into me, sizzling my brain like bacon in a skillet. My eyes are doing the same to his spread legs in front of me. He's waiting in front of me and I'm thinking about how I've always been a coward.   


 

I try to breath, but it’s as if somebody replaced all the air with pudding and it’s hard to choke down.  I’m still struggling as he casually pushes aside a few pieces of fabric. I’m still struggling before his - that fucking word again, it’s toxic in my throat burning me before. Just the word, cock, four letters but I’m tripping over it in my mind as my eyes widen at the thing in front of me. I feel like I'm not even here, floating away again - then I'm grounded again. He does it so simply, bringing me back to Earth.   


 

Then comes another four letter word that is harmless by itself. A word used worldwide, a word I’ve used. This time these four letters form a word that brings me back to sobbing, to begging, to whimpering ‘please no’ over and over again. Four letters for my brain to tumble over itself, free falling down the stairs in a panicked cartwheel. 

 

“Suck.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentines day <3.


	37. Stay. Right. There.

 

 

I don’t want to open my mouth. I won’t open my mouth. I _can’t_ open my mouth. My mind reels thinking once upon a drunk dark night I was forced, I was gagged, I was sick. This is different. I know what’s going on, he knows what’s going on, there are still two fucking psychos watching. I don’t know if they are actually watching, I’m mostly under the table. I feel like they know what’s happening but don’t have a clear view. I can hear jaws mashing, swallowing, dinner being eaten and I’m here. I could care less what they see, it's what they might do to me that is like a shot of adrenaline to my heart. Pulse pounding in my head, I can't put my thoughts together. 

 

Ramsay’s hand finds the back of my head, his fingers form tight knots in my hair and push me down. I can’t do this, I refuse. He'll have to wrench my mouth open by force because even I can't imagine prying it open right now. My lips bump against his jutting cock, straining to get inside my mouth and I feel fat disgusting tears rolling down my face. I want to push away, but when I move my hands to push him back I know its useless. In the past months he’s become bigger and I’ve become so much smaller I may as well not exist. One armed I struggle for a few moments before his hands push me down and his force tells me I have no say.  


 

He’s slippery against my bottom lip and his fingers bunch up around my roots. My lips are as tight a seal as I can make them. 

 

“Need I remind you of a few things,” His grip loosens for a moment. I’m realizing I can breath, that I haven’t been and it feels like my lungs are burning from my refusal to open my mouth. I suck down oxygen as quickly as I can before shutting my mouth tight as a locked chest again. I look at his kneecaps, thinking how it would feel to take a baseball bat to the two of them and push him out an open window.   


 

“One. Your hand still needs to be broken tonight.” I flinch,my mind clears and the idea is causing my stomach to flip again. I’m not even sure if this is worth letting him have his fun. Maybe I should just let the boys finish the job, maybe death would be easier than doing this any more. I let myself imagine for once that they would be quick and easy. It wouldn't be awful, to fade out to black and let the credits roll.   


 

“Two. You haven’t eaten in a while. I have some delicious pizza up here and if you’re very good **and** stop fighting me _maybe_ I’ll give you some crust.” Even the crust would be something, I’m disgusted with myself when my mouth waters. Drool dripping down my chin before I wipe it away on my shoulder. I'm too afraid to lift my arms even for a moment. Slobber drenches the inches next to my neck. I try to ignore it.   


 

“Three. You **do** need a good punishment for how you acted earlier.” I suck in a gasp of air. I wait. I know when Ramsay’s especially pissed he makes lists. The longer the list the more pissed he is.I've only found this out through experience. When he counts off he's telling me how many reasons he has to hurt me. One means pissed, but I can fix things. Two means I’m in deep shit. Three is damn near unfix-able. If he gets to four I’ll be fucked no matter if I’m willing or not. My heart flips in my chest when I think how easy it would be for the boys to hold me down. I can’t fight _one_ of them let alone three at once.  I pray he doesn’t have anything else to say. _Please no more. Please stop. Please._

 

“Four. Your sister wasn’t this difficult. I barely had to ask her.” That’s it, if I don’t open my mouth he’ll make me. It’s like he’s reading my thoughts, I try to push the picture of _her_ out of my mind - better to think a nameless, faceless shadow than the woman I grew up with.  


 

“If you think I won’t I’ll cut off your lips and fuck what’s left of you, you'll be sorely mistaken. Do you want to try me.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement. It’s not even a threat, it’s a promise. I guess I have five seconds before he carries it out. I lick my lips, I would miss them terribly.  Even in the dry flaky state they seem to always be in these days. For a few moments I think of all the things I've done with these lips.   


 

I open my mouth, just slightly at first. I feel him pressing against my lips, still wet from the thought of crust, and I try to keep that in the front of my mind. Picturing the dried dough, with garlic flecked throughout, the floury taste coating the bottom of the burnt pieces. I’m thinking of all these things so I don’t have to think about what’s going on. 

 

I try  to taste something, anything from memory so I wouldn’t have to taste him. I’m already gagging and he’s not even half way into my mouth, suddenly I have a revelation about those girls who can take a foot and a half of anything into their throats like sword swallowers. I’m respecting them and envious at the same time. My throat’s closing up and I can’t do it anymore, bile coating my esophagus as I breath through my nose and try desperately to stop breathing at the same time.I try to tug away, give up and surrender. Do what you want to me, just not this. His hand is there balled up in my curls holding me hostage.   


 

The tears are coming freely now, the dull pain in my hand, distant as I try to support myself on it’s broken bones, the ache in my jaw as I try to accommodate him and fail miserably. _I can bite him_ but it'll be useless. He'll knock out every one of my teeth and probably think of something else awful while he's at it. I’m sobbing and gasping around his length. He’s guiding my head up and down, not really giving much of any indication he’s enjoying my efforts until he speaks. 

 

“No matter what happens, do _not_ stop.” He moans and I know he’s loving every second. His voice, this new voice I’ve never heard before has this thick buttery smoothness. It’s deeper and it flows like it doesn’t belong to him. It's low and needy. It's something I should never have to hear.  


 

“Don’t stop.” He says again, and I try to nod, through all this, with my eyes scrunched up shut so I don’t have to look at that fucking pink underwear getting closer and further and closer and further. I’m concentrating, feeling him, the few inches I have of him - and I shudder to think there’s more, I’m not even feeling like myself. I’m thinking of the saltiness pooling in my mouth. Popcorn, I think. Pretend it’s popcorn with a load of salt thrown on. I can almost smell the theater, sticky sweet candies and salt bombed snacks. I've never tasted popcorn quite so awful.   


 

It works for a few moments before he starts talking again.

 

“Doesn’t this seem a bit familiar. Maybe one night when you were drunk enough to not care, to sit there and accept whatever I had to give you, maybe one night I face fucked you and you enjoyed it. Doesn’t it ring any bells in that empty skull of yours.” He purrs, and somehow it does. Somewhere in the back of my throat is the memory of cheap liquor.I know my previously fleeting thoughts were true.   


 

Every inch of me struggled not to vomit. 

 

“Just a little more.” His hand is pushing me back down, just a bit more, further down and down until I can’t breath. He’s holding my head there with one hand as I feel my face turning from red to purple to blue. I can’t get a gasp of air in, and I want to struggle but my arms feel so heavy. I'm a thousand leagues under the sea, and as much as I'd hate to have this be the last thing I feel - I'm almost at peace, hoping he'll just keep me down until I don't even want to fight back.   


 

“Stay. Right. There.” 

 

His hand holding me, I’m so trapped, so stuck in the fact that I can’t get air that I don’t notice what his other hand is doing. The other hand that is on the table, the other hand that grabs the 40 pound weight like it’s nothing and pulls it to the edge of the table. Everything happens in a series of snapshots. 

 

His hand lets go, my head is free, I spring back just a few inches so he’s barely in my mouth at all and I’m gasping around him, letting my face change it’s color again. Then there’s a loud thumping and my hand is agony. I’m seeing stars, my vision goes black as I try to pull my wounded right hand from under the forty pound weight and fail and scream around his cock as his hands grab my hair and force me back down. 

 

Then there’s my own muffled screams as he comes, sending every drop of his pent up frustration down my throat. Even with the searing pain attached to me I try to think of popcorn, salty buttery popcorn. Burnt and somehow pipping hot and scorching my throat that’s always raw.

 

 

He’s done and I’m free of the weight as he pushes it off my newly re-broken hand, and I’m swallowing hard and thinking I will eat razors before I eat popcorn again.   


 

 


	38. It's For You

 

“Honestly, he’s essentially useless to me. He can’t do much of anything, he just mopes around and you let him? No. He needs to do something with that wrapped up excuse he has. I don’t care  _ what _ you make him do. You can not just keep somebody in your basement.” At least that's how most of the one sided conversation goes.   


 

I’m seeing red. What I do is none of _his_ business. I don’t even know _how_ he knows, all I know is that he knows. I can’t tell him why I have somebody here, who it is, what it means to me. That would render me the weak pitiful one. I don't think he would ever go so far as to pity me, not after all the things I've done to his lovely perfect family - but I am his family now and I do not want to show him a side of me he does not need to know even exists. So instead of a vengeful man I’m reduced to some psychopathic boy. Better that than something less than human. I'm sure he already is counting the screws he thinks are rattling around, loose in my brain and one more will not make a difference. 

 

It’s only been a few days since my _guest_ had gotten his arm from fingers to elbow wrapped in plaster and already he’s learning so quickly. I’m almost proud of that fact that it took this long but I’ve done it. I’ve got him between my hands and I’m molding him like warm clay. He’s finally taking the shape I expect of him - finally losing what he was and then my father steps in. He's this black cloud that lives at the edge of my world, floating there and raining down whenever the mood takes him.   


 

A phone call, the only way he ever chooses to impact my life.  Ring, Ring, Ring - if I don’t get it, Reek will, and if you’re wondering he is almost there. He’ll answer the phone and say 

 

“Bolton residence” It’s wonderful. His voice is so cracked and misused his mother wouldn’t recognize it. A blowjob, a broken hand and suddenly calling the cops or answering the phone and screaming for help seems a lot less like an option and more like a suicide. It's lovely.   


 

His face turned the color of a eggshell and he handed the phone to me in his always shaking left hand. 

 

“It’s yo-your father.” What choice did I have? I had to answer, and only to get screamed at essentially. My father, well he doesn’t scream. He just speaks with the kind of tone of voice one uses to say  _ you are in terrible trouble and if you speak you will make it worse . _ I’ve spent most of my adult life perfecting that voice. Mine although wonderful is still not up to his. When he speaks even I am forced to listen. That voice can crush you, can run you into the ground. I avoid it as much as I can, putting my tail between my legs and backing off.  


 

So I listened. My Reek has his purposes. Making me dinner, cleaning the house, sucking my cock more and more since our first attempt. These uses don’t interest Mr. Bolton. My business man of a father would prefer my pet become a class pet and work for the company. In his mind it's time for show and tell and I’m both opposed and for this idea. It would give him more ways to fuck himself over. I can see him performing the smallest tasks and failing in some insignificant way and awaiting his punishment. I can see his ribs aching from holding in his breath, waiting for me to catch the slip ups. I can see him trembling in public, biting back tears. I can see myself becoming very entertained.   


 

I can also see people, the greedy judging kinds looking at my  _ friend _ and thinking some awful thoughts. Thoughts I didn't like one bit.

 

You see we run a medical supply business. We are the go between for factories, larger companies, and all those similar kinds of things and all the hospitals that need them. We have everything from IV poles to Ativan. We actually have quite a bit of say which brands become big and which go bankrupt in this area. We are the middleman in a business where no middleman is needed, and yet we are thriving. Can the hospitals just order things they need from one company, why sure. Then we step in and offer the cheapest deals possible, bulk. We have our own pharmacy as well, something still in it's infancy but I'm promised it's coming along marvelously.    


 

And we get all kinds in. Doctors and nurses and pharm techs and lab assistants, and more of course. There is always more. My father will take the money he can get so there are always the kinds of people who want medical supplies but don’t work in health care. The kinds of people who need drugs supplied to them, needles given to them at a pricy but don’t-ask-don’t-tell rate, tools that no normal human should have laying about the house. I get a discount of course. The scalpels in my basement all have the big bold Bolton X on the handle, outlined in red. There are others, all kinds as a matter of fact, at least that's what they say. 'It takes all kinds'. Well those are the ones who would see my pet and want to poke and prod and see what makes this malformed creature tick. It’s only natural to see roadkill and try to touch it with the nearest stick you can find.  With these kinds it’s normally not just a regular stick either. You just want to see what’s on the inside of something that was so recently living and breathing - so just like us. 

 

And the people we employ, most I wouldn’t trust with my lunch order let alone such valuable cargo.  This box of already damaged goods, what would our employees do to him exactly if given the chance? My boys are my most trusted _friends_ and I'm using that word as loosely as I can, I've seen first hand what my boys would do when given a moment of freedom. I couldn't picture letting others have that same moment. Not again.   


 

Regardless of what I say, with my father’s insistence I’m sure my little Reek will end up working for him just like everyone else. I’ll try to stave off the inevitable for as long as I can so my house pet can become _perfect_. I want him broken into the smallest jagged pieces before anyone else can have him. I want his edges so rough if others try to touch him they hurt themselves worse. I want him to be loyal. I want him to know who he belongs to. I don’t want him to just suck my cock on demand - I want him to love it and want it more than I do.  

  
And when he can answer only to me I’ll let my father have a try. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's not terribly long or fantastic, work and snow are dragging me down I swear. Feedback is what always keeps me going :)


	39. Planning

 

His hands play with my hair, knotted and messy and greying. It’s killing me to face the sickly looking strands dangling in front of me - so long and unkept. He tugs on the root, then runs his hand through my greasy locks and lets out a heavy sigh. I’m on the floor, in my place.  He’s on the couch his feet tucked under him and his knees prodding into my back. I can feel his annoyance, but I’m not sure why. It's radiating off him like heat waves. I'm just the insignificant thing caught in the way.   


 

Should I risk it? Should I say something. It might be like removing a stone from the base of a mountain. Everything can tumble down on top of me and kill me or everything can stay the same. I’m still debating when he finally speaks up, relieving me of my burden. I struggle not to thank him for no reason.   


 

“My father would like you to work for him.” 

 

I inhale, no exhaling. His father. I imagine an older man with the same sickening eye color, the same grating voice, the same urge to destroy everything in front of him. I don’t know what my job would be. I don’t even know if it would rightly be called a job. Against his knee cap I shiver. His fingers stroke my scalp. 

 

“Not yet, you don’t worry. I won’t let him have you until I’m done.” 

 

Done. It sounds so final. So much like there is a set point in mind and once I reach that point- well I'll be given away. Another shiver. His fingers run along my skull, thinking it’s a comfort. I don’t know what it is anymore. 

 

“You know I’ll protect you. I won’t let anybody hurt you, ever.” His words, like blades bite into me. His knife is nowhere in eyesight and he’s still peeling me away, ripping bloody pieces off of me. In my mind I’m screaming and fighting. How can he never let anybody hurt me. How can he do anything.  Tears flow freely, but I bite my tongue, feeling the jagged broken teeth prodding into it. A reminder of just how much he can protect me to keep myself from believing him.   


 

“You do know I’ll be there, I work for him too. You won’t have a steady nine to five I’m sure. I’ll find you something more suited for your talents.” His fingers disengage themselves from me, wiping on his pants to get the muck off. He’s laying back, his legs stretching out before him,  as he eyes me. I can feel him boring into my brain, picking for a response. I don’t have one. I'm drained just thinking about the potential of more people like him. I can't even handle one, let alone more. A father and son torture tag team. I know if he lets me work for his father it’ll be the end of me. Something terrible will happen and I’ll do anything to prevent that. Anything at all.

 

Somewhere inside me Theon Greyjoy sits, hiding in a shadow filled  corner. His fingers reach out sometimes and push ideas my way, he screams what he wants some days, other times he's completely quiet. Today he’s thinking of something, some plan to get us out of this. 

 

He’s scheming and planning and working extra hard. He’s drawing me pictures, pulling up graphs. He’s making a fucking power point inside my brain as Ramsay unzips. Our nighttime schedule. I try to focus on the pie chart Theon's showing me somewhere inside myself.    


 

“Come here and show me those talents you’ve got.” _He’_ s purring at me, I’d rather he be demanding and sharp. It would feel less like some farce of a relationship, something sickening and fake. Something playing at being two normal humans. When he tells me to something, cracking his voice like a whip it’s easier to do it. It’s the truth. I have no choice, a hostage with a loaded gun to my head - that’s what his demands are like. When he’s nice, when he tells me he can take care of me and protect me, when his fingers wrap around my shoulders instead of my neck, when he sighs and hums while I try to forget what my mouth is doing, it’s so much more difficult. Tonight it’s not so hard to forget though, because Theon is telling me what’s going to come next. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much is going on, my apologies if this isn't up to par, but I wanted to put something out there, so you know I'm still writing. Try to update again soon.


	40. Blood Like Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon plans. Ramsay helps.

 

 

I’ve decided it would be easiest to poison him. I needed something quick, something I could get to while he wasn’t looking.I couldn't leave, couldn't just run to down or pay somebody to bring me something so I had to find something around the house. The guns were under lock and key, and I had no access to them. Knives were everywhere but messy. I would have to overtake him, even if I could sneak behind him could I count on my quivering left hand to cut his throat? I wasn't strong enough to fight him. It was impossible and improbable. Three weeks after my cast was put on and even if I clubbed him over the head with it I’m sure it would still be awful.  I had the strength of a new born fawn these days. My luck nothing would happen, he’d be dazed, then snap my neck. The thought of that was almost enough to do it anyway. Just to end everything. Just so I wouldn’t have to feel  _ him _ in the back of my throat anymore. It would be wonderful.

 

But I want to take him down. I need to. It’s become a revenge fantasy. My life has become a cheap knock off of  [ Quentin Tarantino ](http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000233/) ’s films. It’s disgusting how often I plan anymore. Ever since he told me about his father I've been thinking. I just need five seconds. As soon as I decided this, as soon as I started to really consider that I can  _ kill  _ him it makes things so much easier. It’s easier to crawl to him. It’s easier to “be good” for him. It’s simple to do things you dislike when you put a timer on them. I barely even have to go away anymore. Not that I go anywhere, I just started to go somewhere inside my own head to take me away from all this shit. Now, I don't have to. I've been granted a stay of execution at the last second. Before I let myself slip through my own fingers I've come back from the grave with a taste for blood.   


 

I always make him dinner, but he’s usually hanging about the kitchen if he’s home. He  watches me like a hawk, as if I’m under some kind of microscope. I’m fascinating, really. Between my disgusting hops from foot to foot because they always ache if I stand too long, the way my whole body shakes, the way my eyes water randomly - I’m sure I make an amusing sight. He loves to ask me to make difficult things, buttery lobster, garlic crusted duck, glazed scallops. Things I can not afford to fuck up. Things he would love for me to fuck up just so he can spit it right back at me and smash my face against the table.   


 

Tonight is the night, I can feel it. I know exactly what I’m going to do. I’ve planned it for weeks, and I’ve been perfect. He thinks I’m coming along wonderfully, I’ll let him come down my throat and I won’t gag anymore. I let him pull clumps of my hair out and don’t scream. I can bring him his slippers on my hands and knees with his filthy shoes in my mouth when he asks. I’m wonderful. I'm all that he's ever wanted any more. He’ll never think his perfect  _ pet  _ will do this. He’s so sure I’m becoming his reek that he’s stopped mentioning Asha. Which is perfect. I want him to forget she’s alive that way I have. 

 

Let her fall away and then she doesn’t matter. If she doesn’t matter to me she doesn’t matter to him - but he doesn’t know she’ll still be nibbling in the back of my mind until I get out of here and tell her what’s happened. It won't be much longer anyway. I've got my poison sitting at the tips of my fingers. I just need a few seconds of freedom to do what I need to do.   


 

There’s a gallon of antifreeze in the back shed. I have no idea how much to use, but I know if I get lucky he’ll be gone this time tomorrow. If I get it wrong and he’s just sick all night I’ll bring him a glass of water with some more mixed in. If _that_ doesn’t work I’ll shove a fucking tube down his throat and pump the bastard with it if I have to. If he's laying on his stomach gagging all night I can slit his throat. I can drive a knife straight through those fucking eyes. I've always been able to improvise, I will have no problem with it later tonight if I have to get creative. 

 

He came home early. He was out. I don’t know where.  I don’t care where. As soon as I hear his car in the driveway I get on my knees, I wait at the door. I’m sitting there, like a good dog until he comes in and pats my head and I nuzzle against his leg and think  _ this is the last time _ so I give it all I’ve got. 

 

“Well, you must have missed me!” He’s surprised. I’m not normally so enthusiastic and for a second I think I’ve overdone it. Then I look up at him with big watery eyes and just nod my head. He chuckles and pats me again and he starts up the steps, leaving me at the foot of the stairs watching him ascend. In my mind I'm beging him, sending him telepathic communications to just _buy it, buy it, buy it please._  


 

He hollers down at me, “Dinner tonight will be busy, make sure you set three plates - whatever you feel like cooking up. I’ll let you choose.” 

 

This is perfect. I don’t care who our two guests aew. Probably two of the boys. It could be his father and his new step mother whom he only complains about at least seven times a day.  It could be anyone and  I could care less.  I don’t care about them, as long as I can get the food into him. I’ll be expected to stay out of sight if it’s anybody but the boys. 

 

Even they can’t put a damper on me. Those terrifying things that run through my life like bulls. 

 

I make my slow crawl back to the kitchen in case he’s watching - sometimes he does that. Just act like he’s in his room, or his office, or any of the upstairs rooms I barely get to see anymore,then he just stands at the railing and watches me to make sure I’m being good. Meaning on my knees with my eyes on the carpet.   


 

I’m allowed to stand in the kitchen or when I have to, to serve him something, to take care of the girls, to reach things for him he doesn’t feel like getting himself. So as soon as my knees hit the linoleum I’m on my feet. I’m scampering around the kitchen trying to be so quiet. I want to hum but he will know if I’m that happy. Then he’ll be suspicious. I've been good, but never happy.   


 

Then he’s at the kitchen door, shirtless, just wearing his black jeans he wears when he’s out to impress. He’s playing with a scab above his right nipple and I have to look away because my face is turning blood red. I'm not exactly suppose to always be looking at him, but that depends on the day. Sometimes he wants me to watch him, sometimes he wants me to look anywhere but at him. Submission or reverence are the two things he wants, but never at the same time and it's impossible to tell which he'd prefer until I display the wrong one. He barely glances at me as I’m pulling out pots and pans and looking in the drawers for the rest of what I need. My eyes are traveling around the room without really settling on him for more than a minute. Even now he makes me nervous. 

 

“I want you to take a break for a minute.” 

 

I get on my knees because I know what’s coming, but he laughs. It’s not one of the fake ones either, it’s a big throaty laugh that makes him sound like a boy. For a second I wonder how can this kid ruin my life the way he has. Then my broken tooth catches on my cheek and I'm struggling to swallow the bit of blood in my mouth and I remember how he's ruined me.   


 

“No silly, stand up. Although I do like where your mind is going.” I stand up, bouncing from foot to foot. He's in a good mood, reverence might be the way to go, so I try to pack as much awe and wonder into my eyes as I can when I look his way.   


 

“Dinner is rather important tonight. I can’t just hide you away, so I want you to clean up.” 

 

“Clean up...the house?” I ask, tilting my head. Surely he doesn’t think I can clean the whole house and make dinner in three hours.   


 

“No, yourself. First of all you look like you’ve been rolling in pig shit. I still don’t understand how somebody can get so filthy in a clean house. Secondly you reek, Reek. We don’t want to ruin our guests appetites. Isn’t that right?” His fingers are still plucking at the dry crusty skin. I’m disgusted while flecks of dark red fall away from his chest, littering the off white tiles under our feet. I'll be expected to clean that up too.  

 

I nod, completely unsure of where this is going before an idea bursts into my brain like an aneurysm. It **mus** t be his father coming over. My stomach somersaults over itself. I wonder if the elder Bolton would be more understanding or more cruel. Ramsay is going to present me to him and then, all my worst nightmares might come true. I’m not sure I want to find out and less sure that I would ever want to cross him. Maybe I should poison all the food, go out like a cult and make my escape. Nobody would even blame me if the truth came out. I can picture all three plates, Ramsay, his father and his new fat step mother eating like pigs and each getting sicker and sicker. Fighting for the bathrooms, for control of the sink, for beds to die in. My mind is still wandering when he speaks again and I almost miss it.   


 

“Remember, you can’t get that arm wet, so just try to clean yourself up with your left. If you need help holler. I’ll be in if you arn’t able to reach everywhere.” Suddenly his hand is grabbing my crotch and I’m trying desperately not to sob.   _ Do not pull away. Do not pull away. Do. Not. Pull. Away _ .  His fingers knead into the part of me I’m trying to forget exists. I try not to close my eyes, just to look down at the ground.This is worse than when he makes me suck him off before he storms upstairs for bed. This might mean I'll like something. Bile flavors the back of my throat.   


 

I nod. 

 

“Thank you.” 

 

 

When he finally lets go of his death grip on me. I shrink away and run upstairs to wash up as quickly as I can.  I have so much work to do. 

  
  


** X **

 

If he thinks I don’t know what’s going on he’s worse than I had thought he was. I do love to see those gears turning in his head. I love when his brain backfires and works in these strange ways trying to think of original thoughts. He doesn’t understand how transparent he is. He’s a jellyfish drying out on the sand. I can see every grain behind him. I know him far too well.  


 

His ideas are as unique as he is. Should I say was. As much as he thinks he’s playing some kind of awful trick on me, baiting and trapping me - I’m the better hunter. My eyesight is sharper, my ears pick up much more than his, I can sense the change in the air before it comes. 

 

I know what he’s doing. I know what he’s planning. I’m also two steps ahead. So while he scrubs up, I’m loosening the cap of antifreeze he plans on putting in my dinner. I’m making his job just a bit easier, because once the table is set he’ll be having a hard enough time I’m sure.

 

 

 


	41. Dinner Time

 

 

The second I’m done I struggle with the dials in the shower, trying to twist it in  my weak slippery hand when I hear a knock at the door.

 

Three quick raps, then  _ he’s _ in here with me. I couldn’t have taken more than four minutes, five tops. He looks cold, like he was just outside, his fingers are pale and I can see all the blue criss-crossing under his skin. Those pale lines of scars popping all over his body demanding to be seen. For the thousandth time I wonder what happened. He's never told me and I suspect he never will. It's probably better that way. I can't imagine him telling such secrets to people who live long afterwards. He shivers and leans against the wall with the air vent, letting the warmth cover him. I can see the goosebumps poking up all across his naked flesh. My own body temperature drops just looking at him even though the warm water is still pelting me. We stand in silence, before he bursts that bubble as well.

 

“Well it seems you’re having a bit of trouble.” He strides over and flicks off the dial as if it were so easy. It would be so easy if I could do it. It's just one more thing he gets to take away from me, but I thank him and hang my head. Suddenly I see that he brought me in cloths. Jeans, small jeans, jeans that look like they’ll actually fit me. New, crisp, fresh. A long sleeved shirt, something to cover all my...damaged areas. The bruises and bitemarks and raw areas covering me. My hand palms the semi circle of teeth marks in my abdomen just above my naval almost subconsciously. That's far from the only imprints of his mouth on me, but it's the first one I always touch.   


 

At least I won’t be on display tonight. It's a sigh of relief, that I would be paraded out in front of the guests. I dry off quickly, he’s watching but it's a struggle for me to care anymore. He’s stripped me down so many times I barely think of him being in the room at all. His eyes still pierce me, that's the only thing that keeps me from ignoring him altogether. I tug on my new clothes as he tugs his pants off. That’s what always gets me. I feel my face flare up, the color of a ripe cherry while I count the fibers in the carpet under my feet. 

 

“I’m going to take a shower and rest up before dinner. If I fall asleep wake me up before five. I expect dinner to be ready by then. Understand?” Yes, I think. A million times yes.   


 

He’s making this far too easy. Things are falling into place so perfectly I wonder for a second if he knows, but he can’t know. I’ve been so careful, he would never understand my plans. If he did know he would be thwarting them, not encouraging them. I nod, he steps into the shower, turns the dial to the hottest setting and I rush out of the room.

 

X

 

Theon’s standing in the kitchen, the table is set. Three places, Ramsays place is already ready. Each place has a clean sparkling wine glass, the silverware, the blood red napkin. Ramsay’s finally up and walking into the kitchen as Theon starts to plate. Ramsays dish is already set. His is separate from the others. At the last second he decided to just take out one Bolton tonight. It might prove disastrous, but it's all he could do right now.   


 

One of Ramsays favorites tonight, roasted chicken with pasta and sun dried tomatoes. Something Ramsay eats every inch of. Something he would ask for seconds of - and if he does Theon has a small glass of antifreeze hidden away behind the Windex under the kitchen sink. A double dose would never hurt when a dirt nap is the goal. Two more plates are prepared and laid out, Ramsay's sitting in his place of honor the other two flanking him on either side.Theon's feeling absolutely wicked, gleeful and sunny as he puts the finishing touches on everything.   


 

Ramsay reaches one hand under his maroon shirt and itches his stomach, stretching lazily as he observes the scrawny man rushing back and forth between the dining room and kitchen. 

 

“That one, I think they’d like some cheese on the pasta. We’ve got Parmesan?” Theon nods curtly, before grabbing some out of the fridge and sprinkling it over the dish to Ramsays right. As he’s putting it back the door bell rings.The cheese is melting, the food is steaming, you can't even smell the toxins lacing the dish at the head of the table. You can't even tell.   


 

“I want you to pour the wine.” Ramsay says, a smile plastered on his face far too large to be fake. Maybe his father is on good terms today. Maybe his father’s newest wife isn’t the third guest. “I’ll get the door.” 

 

“Oh, you’ll be sitting on my left, that place is for you. Hope you like chicken. Also if you try anything tonight I’ll cut off your cock and fuck your ass with it til you fucking hemorrhage.” These threats aren't taken lightly and Theon’s jaw hits his chest, quivering, but it will all be okay. It will be an empty threat because dead men can't do much of anything but lay there. Then with the same tone of voice he would use to state his driver’s license number or his preference for Chinese food over Mexican dishes he follows up with another, “And that will be nothing compared to what I will do to her. Now stay here.” Her. Her. Her. The word rings in his ears like an echo in a cavern. He feels himself falling into that cavern, into a pit deeper than hell and darker than any endless void. He's lost.   


 

Theons mind is still spinning hoping against hope that this surprise guest is some stranger, but when his sister walks into the dining room he can't be surprised anymore and just feels like he’s just lost at his own game.

 

 


	42. Be Our Guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Be our guest, be our guest! Put our service to the test. Tie your napkin 'round your neck, cherie and we'll provide the rest_

 

“Well it’s awfully nice to see you again.” Asha’s comment is sharp, bitter. If only she knew. If only she could understand the half of it. We’re all sitting down, Ramsay between the two of us, I just want him to dig in already. I've been frozen, sitting in the chair Ramsay put me in when the doorbell rang. My legs are trembling under the table. It's a struggle to keep my hands from shaking in the same way.   


 

“Sorry, I’ve been caught up.” I say. I mumble, I look at my plate and think I've never in my life been less hungry than I am now. I can tell she knows I’m not well. I know by my pallor, all the bones poking out everywhere, the purple and yellow hand prints on my neck. Then I think _she can’t see the full extent_. I look at Ramsay, he’s grinning like a mad man, I look at my plate. Soon it will be over and I can tell her how we sat talking about nothing over a fucking psychopath’s last meal. We’ll laugh and hug and get along better than ever. It's a world where everything is as it should be. Where my wrist and hand aren't wrapped in plaster.   


 

“Theon, have you been drinking again?”

 

It takes me a few seconds to even realize it's directed towards me. Nobody's used that name in a long while. I look up and it hits me that it’s more of an accusation than anything else. I just shake my head.

 

“No, not really. Ramsay...he helped me stop.” Ramsay nods. I feel like a parrot, spewing what he wants to ear and maybe if I'm extra good he'll eat all his food and die extra fast. Instead of putting his food into his mouth he just starts talking.   


 

“That I did, hard work, but we got through it together." His eyes meet mine and glow with something maniacal. "What else could I have done but help you when you needed my help the most? Isn’t that what friends do for each other?” 

 

It’s so cheesy it sounds like it’s out of an 80’s sitcom. It probably is. Most of his lines are picked up from late night reruns I think. It's not like he's had any real friends or family to practice on. I hold my breath as Asha beams at him like he’s some kind of saint. She clearly doesn't feel this to be too fake. He's laying it on as thick as cake icing but she's gobbling it up.  


 

“You are so lucky to have somebody like Ramsay in your life. Really you are. He’s fantastic. We’ve talked so much about you. I mean at first I was worried about you, not getting back to me or anything. Then Ramsay steps in and tells me how things are, really it’s a miracle he was at the bar that night. We just sort of hit it off. He’s just, so...understanding.” She’s practically drooling over him, it’s disgusting. He waves his hand like it’s nothing. I put the sex tape that I was forced to sit through out of my mind. I try to think of anything else. It's just so utterly impossible when she's jumping on top of him at the table - in front of me.   


 

“You’re sister is the fantastic one. She’s just so wonderful, I don’t know where you’d be without her.” Another threat inched in. She doesn't know.  I do. Without her. Those words together don't mean much from other people, from him it means he could easily arrange my life without her.  I’m trying to think of what I would do if he grabbed his steak knife and held it to her throat. Probably sob and try to melt under the table. Ask him to please eat his chicken and hope the toxins kicked in before she exhaled too much.I feel spineless and pathetic as his eyes meet mine. I lower my eyes. I pray silently. _Please eat. Please. Please._  


 

She turns the color of the tomatoes on our plates, before she waves her hand. This grade school flirting is rubbing me raw. How can she not see what he’s doing. How can she be blind.The woman I grew up with, she was stronger than some overdone flattery.   


 

“How did you break your hand?” 

 

“I was cleaning the house and something fell.” I couldn’t think of a better lie, so I made it a half truth. “A weight, from his office.” She just gets wide eyed. Oh now he lifts weights. Fantastic. More than fantastic. She thinks I’m drinking and clumsy and being a house husband because I’m so incompetent I can’t hold a job. Half truths tonight. 

 

“Well I think it’s time to dig in, before it gets cold. Theon’s worked so hard to make dinner special tonight. He knows how much I love his cooking.” Only I hear the slight hitch in his voice when he mentions me by name. I can at least force that, it's like a razor blade is stuck in his throat when he has to say my name. He winks at me as he makes a show of cutting off a small piece of chicken. I’m watching him, hoping the effects will be immediate. 

 

Asha finally looks down at her dish and gives a heavy sigh. Ramsay puts down his fork, tilting his head. Giving me a knowing glance. Something that says _caught you._  


 

“Has it really been that long Theon? That you could forget such a big thing.” Then it hits me. My sister, she’s lactose intolerant. I’ve just covered his dish in cheese. She hangs her head, trying to pick off the melting pieces of cheese before Ramsay makes a big show.

 

“Oh there now, I’m sure he didn’t do it on purpose. Here, let me give you my plate. We’ll switch. I don’t mind the cheese." No. No. No. Bastard. No. No.   


 

She makes such a production over what a gentleman he is, before switching plates and I’m trying not to vomit on the table. My sister, she’ll be dead before she can leave the building. Ramsay knows. He’s known all along. I’m getting dizzy before I try to grab the plate off my sister. I look like I'm losing it. There's nothing I can do. She's across the table, I can't just knock it over.   


 

“Please, no. Take mine, please.” I make a grab at her plate, if it falls he'll have my head, but I'd rather my head than hers. Ramsay's face is the picture of amusement, a kid in a candy store.  


 

“Oh, Theon what’s wrong with yours?” She eyes it patronizingly and I want to tell her I’m taking a fucking bullet for her. Yes it’s a bullet I just fired at myself, but I need to do it so she’ll be fine. I’ll just push the food around my plate and pretend to eat it.   


 

“I, I hate tomatoes. Your has fewer than mine. Please switch, please.” Desperation seeps into my voice and I hope she banks on my paranoia drunken fit. In truth her new plate may have more than mine does, I’m just desperate and praying  she sees that. Ramsay’s grinning like a fool. If she eats or I eat he will win. His final meal may be mine.   


 

“Don’t make such a big production about it.” She huffs, finally giving up her poisoned dish for mine. I sigh, slumping down into my chair, watching them both dig in as I eye my own toxic plate. I put in two capfuls. Not sure how lethal that is, not sure if it will kill somebody. Not sure about much, all I know is that I can’t eat this food. I’m about ninety pounds. It would destroy me. I can show off all my bones, this would go through me.  


 

Then I feel a foot nudging me under the table, I look up to see those icy eyes on me. 

 

“Well eat up, I don’t want you to starve. You’ve lost so much weight I worry about you.” 

 

My sister nods, shoveling another forkful of noodles into her mouth. 

 

“He’s right you know, you look like skin and bones. Like a walking skeleton.” 

 

I shiver and shudder. His fingers inch towards his steak knife as he tilts his head just slightly towards Asha. I have to eat. My stomach roars with joy. Finally food. Real food. A whole meal. My mind reels, two whole caps of antifreeze. My body fights as I struggle to lift the fork to my mouth. 

  
  


** X **

  
  


As soon as she left he’s sick.  I'm amazed he's lasted this long. He’s been turning green since the first bite. I didn’t think he was going to eat as much as he did, but then his sister would start up every time he stopped. She would rant about eating disorders and his BMI. I did love her. If only she knew what she was condemning him to. And for his part he ate most of his plate. I only had to kick him once more under the table, my fingers always on my steak knife - his eyes always on my fingers. His sister oblivious.   


 

I walked her out. I put my arms around her shoulders and leaned her against the front door; kissed her slowly, softly. Not the kind of kiss I tend to give. No teeth, no blood, no fun - just business. She swooned, then she was off. She had said her goodbyes to her brother at the table, as he clutched his stomach and bounced in his chair. 

 

When I came back in he was leaning over the sink, his mouth open and his fist shoved down his throat so far I thought he was trying to pull up a lung. Finally he vomited, but it wasn’t enough. He was already swaying, side to side with his fingers of his broken hand clutching at the countertop - trying to steady himself. I tugged him lose and walked him to the upstairs bathroom, the one he had practically lived in when he first came to me. Chucks of chicken splashed into the toilet. He sobbed.He sweated. His stomach made noises that I've never heard before.   


 

I stroked his back, letting him try to bring up as much as he could. 

 

“Now, I want you to understand that you’ve been exceptionally bad. Furthermore you’ve been incredibly stupid. I want you to know that I can kill anyone you love, anyone you care about. I can do it so quickly you won’t know what’s happening. I can hurt you in ways you can not begin to fathom. I can do much worse things than  _ kill  _ you. I can  _ hurt _ you. I want you to be good, goddamn it. If you ever think you’re smarter or more clever than me I want you to think again. You are not. Think of yourself as a dog. You do tricks, you behave, you do not try to outsmart your master. If I ever catch you trying to think you’re above me, or anyone else for that matter I will serve whatever organs you no longer need for dinner. Understand me?”

 

His sick splattered his face but he nodded. His lightened hair was plastered to his face, tracks of tears stained his face. Bile stained the cracks in his lips. I really believed he understood me then.  I’d shown him first hand and in person what I could do. I could show him who his sister would believe. I think there would be only one more step and Theon Greyjoy would disappear. 

 

Until I could finish that last step I had to fix the mess he had gotten himself into. I pulled out my phone, already vibrating with texts from the other fucking Greyjoy I had to deal with. I was slowly learning that grey was my least favorite color. I ignored these texts and pulled up a familiar name and number. 

 

It rang twice before he answered. It was late, but he didn’t question me. He never questioned me.   


 

“Qyburn, I need you to come over again. And bring some kind of antidote for antifreeze poisoning.” 

 

 

 


	43. watch the gauze turn blood red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A punishment that fits the crime.

 

 

It’s the last snow fall of the season. At least I’m praying it is. My hand was uncast from it’s tomb a few days ago. It’s unnatural almost to have access to a part of me that was useless for so long. Weeks of being a lefty and now I’m able to use this. They cut the plaster open early; Ramsay said he could not wait another minute, but it was all right in the end. My hand looks like a hand once more. I can open and shut my fingers, I can grasp things. There are these terrible looking bumps on my knuckles - I think from where the weight smashed my fingers into the carpet, crushing my already weak bones into powder. Ramsay tells me not to worry about it. It aches in the cold or the damp but I can finally use it so I’ll learn to live with it. I have no other choice besides ignoring it forever.   


 

For instance, I can use it to shovel out his driveway. Sweat drips off me even in the subzero temperature. I struggled with the shovel, metal clanging against pavement every time I scrap it under the snow.I’ve been waiting weeks.I’ve been losing myself and I hate it. Even when I’m alone in the house I find myself on my knees before it hits me that I’m alone and I can stand up. When my sister drops by or calls and she calls me Theon I don’t reply half the time. She’s the sword dangling over my head. Ramsay’s gotten...worse. After my mishap at dinner he took me downstairs. I was still sick from my half assed assassination attempt when he _ alone  _ strapped me down like he used to.  He had my left hand flat. 

 

When I finally felt like Qyburn’s antidote was working, when I finally could keep water down Ramsay started with my first punishment. 

 

He looked me in the eyes as he ripped off every nail from my left hand. He started with my pinky finger. His eyes twinkled as he tore the nail, leaving my finger bleeding and raw. He would work the enamel back and forth until it let out a screech, something disgusting and so goddamn loud I'd never forget it. I screamed until I couldn’t anymore. Then he worked on the ring finger, I yelped and moaned and tried to scream, but my voice refused to cooperate. My vocal cords were rusty doors swinging on hinges. 

 

After he tore off every nail from my hand he looked at my bleeding hand, wondering his next step. Then he pulled out the wire cutters. I don’t know where he kept them, somewhere in the darkness I couldn’t see he was storing all kinds of things, most I didn’t want to know about. I could only imagine what he had left hidden away. My mind was drenched in blood and pain and it still though of even more ways for him to hurt me.   


 

“Would you like me to cut one off? Perhaps down to the knuckle, so that you can’t open any more of those pesky bottles outside.” The cold metal brushed against my finger, I shuddered in agony. I shook my head side to side, hair flipped into my face; sticking to the filthy mess that coated me. All kinds of drying fluids, crusting with my hair now stuck. I sobbed.  


 

I cried, I begged. I couldn’t lose a finger, I  just could not do it. He couldn’t take a part of me. I wouldn’t let him. I’d do anything. 

 

He put away the wire cutters then he released my hand and brought it up to his lips. He traced the raw nailbeds across his lips, painting them a sickly dark crimson color in the shadows. He licked his lips clean and hummed before popping my thumb into his mouth. I felt his teeth, sharper than I thought they could be as he sucked on my digit. I closed my eyes, acutely aware of the sensation of his tongue lapping at my tender flesh. I felt the sharp burn of exposed skin mixed with saliva, I held my breath. 

 

“Did you know,” his words distorted by my finger, still resting against his back molars, “it takes the same pressure to snap a carrot with your teeth as it takes to bite off a finger, as long as you find the place where the bones meet.” His words slurred, his mouth bloody, he ran his teeth against my knuckle, finding the spot he was looking for. He put just a bit of pressure on, clamping his teeth gently on that piece of skin held together by the weakest parts of my already weak bones. I saw saliva bubbling from the corners of his mouth.   


 

“Please, don’t.”My own hushed whisper. It seems to echo back at me, pathetically.   


 

“Did you know,” his words continuing, cutting off my begging, “I hate that word. Don’t. Especially when you say it. I do like the word please. Say please Ramsay, please punish me. I’ve been just so awfully bad today.” 

 

I couldn’t gasp out the words as he stopped his slurry speech and applied a bit more pressure. 

 

“Ple...please, Ramsay, please pu-punish me. I - I’ve been bad.” I spit out, barely. I held back all the don’ts  I could as in “Please don’t bite off my fucking finger.”  Moments like that I didn’t even think of him being a psychotic freak. I couldn't even focus on that dull burn in my throbbing nailbeds, where the skin that should never be exposed was front and center. I just thought of his mouth around my thumb, the fact that he would snap his jaws shut and he would have part of me. It wouldn’t be me anymore. 

 

If I pulled away it would be worse. I knew he would do it. I was shaking and his mouth tightened. I whimpered like a kitten, defenseless and suddenly feeling so sick again.   


 

“Will you ever be  _ so _ bad again?” 

 

“No, please no, I please, just punish me please.” I couldn’t get over those words, couldn’t think of other words he might want to hear. I felt his teeth open, break into a grin. My digit still resting in his mouth, I couldn’t tug it away as much as I wanted to. 

 

“Very good, Reek. I think you can stay here tonight, think about what you’ve done.”

 

He left me like that.The sick part, the worst thing was even though he had just ripped even nail from my hand, even though he had threatened and hurt me so much all I could feel was overwhelming thanks. Thanks he hadn't bitten me. Thanks he was gone. Thanks he hadn't killed me. I was grateful until the darkness took me. When I woke up I was less thankful.  


 

He came back the next morning and ate breakfast in front of me, licking his lips after every bite. I was  both hungry and disgusted. My stomach was a mess from last night, wrecking havoc every time I smelled something odorous - my own sweat for one, then once I got used to that I had to smell his food. I thought I was going to be sick again, just watching him drag his toast through a glob of half melted butter on his plate. He smacked his lips loudly and eyed me. I looked at him instead of the plate, trying to keep the feeble contents of my stomach inside me. 

  
  


I stayed downstairs for longer than ever I think, and he would come down, untie a part of me to torment me, sometimes he’d make me suck his cock, once or twice he smacked me across the face so hard teeth cracked and I was left sucking on the jagged remains, sometimes he’d drag his nails across my back until it bled, sometimes he would just talk to me, and sometimes he’d pull out his knife. I think he keeps it on him all the time, since he’s never without one. He would trace lines up and down my chest, my thighs, my neck. I became the tree he could scratch his initials into. _R.B_ decorated the back of my left calf. _Traitor_ was carved into my left hip. _Reek_ was etched into my chest, right below my heart. I could feel him saw into my flesh and I’d think this isn’t the worst, it could be worse, it could be worse - but it was so hard sometimes. I would suck the graveyard of teeth in my mouth and try not to scream, I would still sob, feeling the tears rush down my face like matching riverbeds.    


 

It was so hard, especially my thighs, he tugged my pants down and slowly cut open thin lines from kneecap up. I thought he was never going to stop until he got to my eyes. One inch from my own cock I got worried - he wasn’t stopping.I thrashed and panicked and screamed. I roared and fought against him as much as I could.  It was going to be unbearable, but he stopped, not one centimeter too soon.  He especially loved that sensitive skin that would make me shriek when his fingernails wormed into the open flesh and tugged in different directions. His fingers always came away bloody. He sucked them clean or held them to my face or would paint his own prick red before shoving it in my mouth.   


 

The worst thing had been one night when he had been particularly bored and I refused to scream the way he wanted. I just couldn’t do it that night. Nothing he did made me sob loud enough, my mouth refused to cooperate, nothing I did was what he wanted. I didn’t want to play. I would sit this night out. He was not having it. If he had a god awful day I hadn’t known. He covered my eyes with something thick and soft and wooly. It was almost a comfort if it hadn’t been him doing it. I still refused to care, I refused to care until I felt cold steel against my bare feet. 

 

To this day I’ll never know what he used, a knife, his lovely wire cutters he had threatened me with, all I know is one moment I had ten functional toes. The next moment I had nine.I don't remember anything else from that night, just a pain unlike anything I'd ever felt, then nothing at all for hours.   


 

Finally after days or weeks he had one final test for me. 

 

“You’ll sit down here and not make a sound understand? I’m going to bring somebody over tonight. If you scream, if you try anything, well I’ll leave the results of that up to you.” His eyes swept down my body, lingering on my maimed feet. I flinched away from his gaze as best I could. I knew he meant my sister, I knew it.  He released me. I was going to be good, unlike the last time. Asha was coming back, not sure what he would tell her about me, but this time I was down here. Maybe yelling would get her attention but I’m sure Ramsay would explain it away, or kill her.  He’d probably bring her down here. I started to cry again. That was the one thing I had tried so hard to never do before and now it happened every time he was in a room with me. He didn’t even have to say anything, he’d just look at me and the tears would start flowing. 

 

I nodded. I understood.

 

Hours later when the doorbell rang I heard heels clicking around upstairs, I heard talking, dim and distant. The TV clicked on for a bit, a cork was popped from some bottle, laughter, talking, silence. I sat with my mouth shut closed. I crawled into the darkest corner and sat, sucking at my left hand, the one where the nails had just begun to grow back.  I tried to think of it as being some exceptionally loud TV show, just two strangers, two actors having a date. I tried to count the dark spots floating in front of my eyes. I gnawed on my knuckles trying to vanish.   


 

They were there for hours it seemed.  I thought it was bad enough that she was here before I heard the unmistakable sounds of moaning. Silence then more moans, louder, then Ramsay’s reply - almost a growl it was so loud and low at once. I knew what was coming and I never in my life wanted to scream more - physical pain wasn’t as bad as this. I sucked my teeth.   


 

I heard Ramsay fuck my own sister above my head for what seemed like days. It was shorter than that I know, but when you’re there, when you can hear every thrust and grunt and slap time passes much slower. I bit my lips til there were almost gone. I struggled against my own body, feeling like I was possessed by a thousand wriggling snakes pulling in different directions.  I mostly just wanted to shut it all out, and when it was finally done there were more giggles and the door opening and closing. She was gone, it was done. I had passed. 

 

I thought of all that and more as I tried to lift the heavy snow into a pile growing as large as I was. I thought of all that and more almost every day. More often than not I thought about those days, the pain, humiliation, dehumanization. I barely felt alive anymore. What had I done to deserve this? I thought time and time again. Then he was coming at me, striding through the snow with a grin plastered across his face as always. 

 

I hated that smile, it was easier when he was furious. He would make me guess why and I’d never know the reasons and he’s slash open a new section of my body, but then it was over. When he was happy he could torture me for hours. He could make me do anything when he smiled.   


 

“Well, well, well, aren’t you doing just the best job.” It was patronizing, I could barely get through the work, but I was attempting. 

 

“I propose a break.” I looked at him, curious. A break? Those never happened. I never had an intermission to misery. I suppose this was a  game. Should I accept, is that what he wanted? I pushed my shovel back into the snow piles, attempting to clear the drive a bit better before he trotted over to me and removed the shovel from my hands, frustrated. The only time he had patience was when he was hurting me.   


 

“I’m not suggesting a break, I’m telling you we’re taking one.” We. As if he was helping at all. I silently accept his proposal with a curt nod.   


 

“We’re going to play something new.”  That screams danger, warning signs pop up in my mind, flashing neon red. Old games mean I know the rules, new games mean I don’t.  I can’t win new games. I never can. I don’t know the rules so he can change them as he likes. He changed the old rules too, but at least I have an idea.I suck the graveyard of bone in my mouth, cutting my tongue.   


 

He tosses the shovel onto a pile of snow, we both watch as it sinks in a bit into the fluffy white, then he looks at me. 

 

“Let me explain.”

 

** X **

 

“You’ll run, and I’ll try to catch you. Remember tag? It’s sort of like that.”

 

His eyes are bothering me, he’s studying me for some hidden meaning behind my words. Sometimes he still does that and it bothers me quite a bit more than I’d like to let on, so I push past it and keep going. 

 

“I’ll give you a bit of a head start, you can take off wherever you want, although I wouldn’t suggest trying to get to the main road because that would be so easy for me. The woods at least might give you some cover. If you can get away you’re free. If not, and I catch you, we’ll see what happens. Obviously that means you’ll lose. I’ll have to figure out what that means when I catch you. “

 

“ _ If _ you ca-catch me”

 

“ _ If . _ ” He’s always stuttering these days, tripping all over his words like his tongue is too big for his mouth. His hands are fluttering like nervous little butterflies in front of his chest, then he looks down, finally. I breathe, not realizing I was even holding my breath.   


 

“What  if I do-don’t want t-to play.” I want to shake him until his words come out clear or not at all, but that would be senseless. I've made him this babbling idiot, I'd sooner keep it than a complete mute. His begging is worth his tongue.   


 

“You always want to play my games, my Reek.” His lids close for a bit longer than a blink, when he opens his eyes they’re focused on the ground, light grey and freezing under our feet. “How does four minutes sound? This is more like a hunt, than a game of tag, honestly. Tag is for children, but it doesn’t matter what it’s called right? It’s just a game. Well, I’m going inside, I’ll be out in about three minutes and fifty seconds. So off you must go.” 

 

His fluttering hands clutched at his jacket, his right hand never grasping quite as hard as his left. I turned my back and headed inside to prepare for our game. 

  
I heard his footsteps start crunching in the snow as I shut the front door behind me, hoping he ran fast and far. I did so desperately miss a good chase. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna make a playlist for this, I promise.


	44. the Chase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon runs. Ramsay's faster. Reek falls.

 

I was already panting and I had just made it past the trees. The snow up to my kneecaps made it difficult, I knew he would be able to see my slushy footsteps a mile away. The best I could hope for was to get somewhere that the snow had melted a bit, or was hard enough to walk on without leaving sized 10 footprints across.If I could just hide somewhere until dark I would be able to slip away in the blackness. I was sure even if he was the best hunter in the world he'd never find me after the sun went down. All I needed to find was the edge of the trees.   


 

I wheezed, the months of relative inactivity had done me no favors, whizzing around the house like a robot meant nothing when the very air around me was stinging my face and piercing my lungs. I brought the neck of my thin jacket up to my chin and pressed ahead, hoping to get further away. Hoping that he really would give me the time he promised. 

 

My feet throbbed, icy and burning they refused to cooperate as I tried to race but ended up stumbling at best. Unbalanced. I counted the seconds as best I could, knowing he’d be behind me. If I could just get somewhere where there were people I would be golden. Freedom dangled before me like the proverbial carrot, swaying in the breeze, tormenting me and just out of my reach. My mind was split in torment, part of me needed freedom, part of me had already given up on that word entirely. The only thing pushing me forward was the half of me craving to be on my own, to live again, to fuck a girl, eat what I wanted, hug my mother, drink an ale, call my friends and apologize.  


 

_ Go faster _ I begged myself, then I heard something far off, the sound of snaps and snarls.  _ Dogs _ .  The girls were howling in the sunset.The wind carried their song towards me, the trees distorted it. I had no clue  where they were in relation to me. One second they were in front of me, the next they were miles behind me.   


 

Orange light filtered through the trees and painted the snow a sickly shade of pink. I ignored the darkening woods, pushing myself.  _ Please go, go, go . _ My mind raced in front of me, zigzagging through trees as I hobbled after it.   


 

My left knee smacked into an unseen rock, large and unmoving and something strong enough to bring me wailing to my knees. Snow up to my waist, I gasped for air, clutching my sides and hearing the shrill whistle of my breathing, the struggle of getting air out of my lungs and back in. _Breath. Get up. Run._ I cursed at myself. 

 

The girls sounded closer. Then I heard his voice, humming, and knew I had to get up. I had to keep going. I could not let him catch me. 

 

** X **

 

I could see his head tumbling through the white, he stood out against the pale background. The setting sun was attempting to help him, but I had already found him, now was just catching him. Nobody wants to let that part go without a bit of fun first.   


 

He heard the girls, could probably feel their breath on him. I only brought out my two best bitches, Kyra and Yara.I had never said anything about them of course. They were not mentioned in the rules. I figured I would call them off before they took out a piece of his leg and he went down without my help.   


 

If he thought that was the end of the surprises he would be shocked when I showed him just what I had in store.

 

** X **

 

My fingers pushed through dead branches, the girls has stopped yapping and gone some other direction. I felt hopeful for fifteen seconds before my heart exploded like the dead tree to my left. 

 

** X **

 

I lowered the .380 Mustang that rested lightly in my hands. That was my favorite part of the small gun, as much as I loved hands on activities, this worked for fun little hunts. Lightweight, it took nothing to hide it from eyes that weren’t looking for it.  A crossbow was preferred; especially for deer hunting. Maybe one day I would take my pet out for some target practice - but not today. Today was for a different kind of lesson.   


 

His scream rang out like a woman’s, causing snow to drift lazily down from the decaying tree branches as he fell forward. 

 

** X **

 

That crazy motherfucker tried to shoot me, he tried to kill me. 

 

A smaller part of my mind told me he wasn’t trying, if he was honestly trying he would have shot me. He missed because he aimed for the tree next to me. My bare hands broke through the crust of the snow, as I inched forward.  


 

I crawled a few feet before I pushed myself up on weak hands and attempted to break into a final run.   


 

** X **

 

He tried again, I watched him struggling. All I could do is shake my head silently. He wasn’t even looking at me, couldn’t even turn his head to look behind him. It was shameful really, but this is how it would go. If only he had stayed down. 

 

** X **

 

Nothing in my life could compare to the pain I felt tearing through my left shoulder. Even the ache of my missing toe, even the feeling of being incomplete. That was an ache, slow and lingering and tolerable after a time. This, this was immense and all encompassing.  A buzzing, a roar, a hum - the three immediate stages of being shot, then the crippling burning pain that sent me straight down on my face. My vision blurred, even face down in the ice. I tried to crawl again, putting my right arm in front of me, but I couldn’t drag myself another inch. I turned to my side, ready to die. Then I heard his voice.

 

“Tag, you’re it.”

 

 


	45. it's fair to say you will still haunt me

 

 

I ran my fingers through his hair, watching his tear drops freeze on his face. Chunks of crystal flecked his eye lashes. I knew exactly what  to do. I knew today was the last of Theon fucking Greyjoy. Knew I had just sent him the bullet that would fatally kill him, knew that when I brought him out of these woods he would be Reek, finally and completely.

 

**X**

 

“I have a story to tell you, Theon.” Laying in the snow, letting it pull me down into it’s frigid grasp I tried to listen to what he had to say.  It was all I had left to focus on, if I tried to will myself to think of the pain I was lost. My body was on fire and frozen at the same time. The world was spinning around me and I could feel it, turning on it’s axis - me just a helpless passenger. Through the pain and the discomfort, through the unease and anxiety I let out a giggle before I could even choke it back and felt disgusted with myself. How could I do that right now. _Shock, I'm in shock. I'm dying I think._ A low moan followed, then a hiss trying to get air.

 

Hot breath pressed down on my face.

 

**X**

 

“Theon.” Never in his life would he have been more terrified, more afraid, more angry. If only he didn’t feel so hot and heavy he would have fought back - Ramsay was sure of it. The burning that had started in his shoulder had probably already spread through his chest. Fire  would be racing through every inch of him, setting him ablaze among the wintery landscape.Ramsay knew the feeling.

 

He could remember a boy, not too long ago being pressed into the hard table beneath him, feeling helpless and terrible. For a moment almost enjoying the way his body betrayed him - then revolution clouded his thoughts. He remembered the fire well. He remembered the cooling touch of hands on his face, lips on his. This was different, the hunted had surpassed the hunter.

 

He was on top of the skinny thing laying, bleeding in the snow in moments, breathing into his face.

 

“I’ve waited so long. So goddamn long. Do you remember yet?”

 

**X**

 

I could barely recognize what’s going on, pain and fire dulling everything but that fact that Ramsay fucking Bolton was on top of me, pressing apart my legs. His mouth was moving but the words made no sense. What would I remember. I couldn't even remember where I was. One second I was in the snow, a moment later it felt like the dirt and pine that covered the woods floor in Winterfell. Somebody else was sitting there, hovering over me. A boy, just a boy with curly reddish hair and wide eyes staring at me and talking _at_ me but not _to_ me. Then it all dissolved and I was in the sand my feet in the water, feeling the salt water lap at all ten toes. My feet writhed in my boots, nine. I was in the snow, and Snow was above me.

 

**X**

 

My hands found his face for a moment, bare skin to bare skin I felt his heat cool under me. I was amazed he wasn’t blue yet, but could see it would happen soon. His pale skin, the veins standing at attention always, now nearly popped out of his skin.

 

“You’re not a monster, just a horny little bastard. Aren’t you?” It felt so good to hiss those words back at him. I had pictured saying it a million times, but never like this. His head titled, blood leaking from him like an open spigot. I struggled with his pants, tugging them down just past his hips. He was dead weight in my arms, looking at me like a dying fawn. His mouth was open, then shut, then open again. He couldn't seem to decide if he wanted to scream or stay silent. Either was fine.

 

“You’ll look back on this and be so grateful to me, so thankful.” I felt my own cock aching for attention, even the biting cold couldn’t do anything to slow me as I wet the palm of my hand, slicking myself for my own comfort. Not his, never his. His head lolled to one side, then the other - making over sized snow angels as he attempted to struggle. His shoulders lifted from the snow only to fall back down.

 

 _Shock_ , I thought before I pressed my warm hand down onto the new wound and heard his yelp turn into a shriek. I watched his mouth open wider and wider as my hand turned dark red. The bullet had passed clear through him, but he bled like a stuck pig.

 

I wrapped my newly bloodied hand around my own cock, watching the gore stain my skin before I leaned into him, feeling his body bracing against me. Wind swirled snow around us and between us, his eyes never left mine. Even with the shock I knew I had a few more moments before I had to drag him home. I could lift him over my shoulders and have him back within thirty minutes. Qyburn would be called if he didn't stop bleeding by the time I got home. For now, I had time.

 

“I have a story. Would you like to hear it? Nod if you understand.”

 

His head bobbed up and down slowly.  Eyelids drooping, then popping open suddenly. His mouth was still open, leaking noises that didn't matter to me. His shriek had turned into white noise. It had become a muffled yell, soft as the whiteness around him. I leaned in so my lips could kiss his ear - then I began.

 

“Once there was a boy, a terrible horrible boy. He was selfish and uncaring and his very heart was filled with the darkest stuff that existed. He was spoiled, he was needy, he was desperate. His name was Theon Greyjoy." His fingers opened and shut grabbing and getting nothing but his palm. I watched his eyes.

 

"He was young and craved attention, the way a sunflower craves sunlight. He needed to make his worth known, so he found this small boy, just trying to get through life, who just needed to be left alone. This rotten disgusting bastard, the real bastard, took this little boy who thought he was so capable of being strong and sturdy into a room and drugged him. This _Theon -_ ” I spit, his eyes wide to the point of bursting from his skull, his ass writhing under me, realizing what was coming but helpless to get away under my watch.  Maybe he did remember after all. “This boy, he drugged this little boy. Then he fucked him, he fucked him and left him there with blood oozing from his skin and anger dripping from him. But that little boy was a Snow. That little boy is dead because you killed him. I’m a Bolton, and I am much stronger than that bastard boy. I’m much more capable of returning the favor.”

 

With that I plunged into him - his scream; a real scream - no softened white noise, rocked the world around us.

 

**X**

 

I had thought the pain in my shoulder was unbearable, it was nothing compared to how he felt inside me. Even with all that I could somehow remember doing this exact same thing years ago in some abandoned room. I could feel cheap beer coursing through me, giving me courage - could feel a blackout nearing like a storm on the sea. Could feel my lips touching his, tasting the sweat on his earlobe while I fucked him.

 

I felt the stretching, the tearing, the unbearable burn of him forcing himself into me, my legs pushed to the sides. I tried to kick and he swatted my thighs away casually, pressing himself further into me. I screamed praying somebody - anybody would hear me. I tried to shout all the words I could remember,  _help, police,Robb,Asha,mom,dad,god,help_ but it all came out mixed up and slurred together. It just sounded like screaming when it reached my ears, but it didn't sound like mine. It was too high, too noisy, too much.  I had no idea where we were, maybe somebody would listen and hear something more than the wind howling tonight.

 

 

His fingers brushed my mouth.

 

  
“Hush, nobody would come even if they could hear you, but if you don’t stop that yelling I’ll be forced to stop it for you.” I couldn’t register what he was saying, just keep expelling air out of my mouth. Memories raced through me, pain set my body on fire, and he tore me apart. A bullet through the shoulder wasn’t fatal, but this was. _Shock, I'm in shock, why can I feel this - make it stop_. I felt a sticky, quickly cooling puddle under my neck. I screamed louder.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bye Theon, nice knowing you.


	46. let me hear you crying just for me

 

I’ve gotten him crushed. He’s gone and it is so fantastic. He comes willingly. I don’t have to call him, he waits where I tell him to. He does as I ask without question. I can do whatever I want to him. It’s wonderful. Theon is dead. Long live Reek.   


 

I fuck him everywhere I can think of. I can bend him over the sofa and work my fingers into his ass and he’ll suck them clean when I’m done. All I have to do is say the word. He sobs every time I so much as look at him. I don’t mind, in fact it’s rather endearing.   
  


Last night I tested out how far I can go. 

 

“Get in my bed.” That was new. Someplace we’ve never been, where _he’s_ never been. I don’t even think he’s seen the inside of my room, all dark reds and blacks. Pink sheets. Plush blood colored carpets. Four poster bed with old sturdy oak posts just screaming for somebody to be tied to them. He took it all in silently, doesn’t say much lately. 

 

I pushed him down on the bed, the tears were already flowing and I had barely touched him. It was enough to bring a smile to my lips before I shook my head. His fingers were struggling with his belt; he always had to wear a belt anymore - regular pants just never stayed in place on him without help. 

 

The fingers where the nail never grew back were the worst, just looking at them made me shudder. I didn’t mind taking them, but looking at the exposed nail bed time and time again made me cringe and few things did that. I pushed his hands away, and took my time getting him stripped down. He lifted his hips for me as I pulled down the cotton under his denim. He let me do any damn thing I wanted without so much as a word in protest. There was screaming. Sometimes an awful lot of that. Sometimes he would beg me to stop. But he never moved a muscle to stop me himself. Not anymore.

 

Naked he lay, white on pink. Angry raised scars marked his pale skin.  Reek pulsed with his heart rate. My fingers traced the words on his hips. His face a terrible shade of red, his mouth set in a tight line, his eyes locked somewhere past me.  I thought about what to carve next and where. 

 

“I know something about you, just a very  _ little  _ something.” His head tilted, listening but otherwise showing no signs of having heard me. “I know, you never  _ ever  _ come when I’m with you. Is it so bad for you that you can’t even find some pleasure in it?” 

 

As if I cared if he enjoyed it. What _I_ enjoyed was the way his face drained, the way all the blood seemed to leave his body. I enjoyed humiliating him. I would enjoy the next step even more. He was cracked into pieces, he would do anything I wanted him to do. Next I wanted him to enjoy it. This would be the fun part, one of the parts I was best at. It would take time, but I had time - all the time in the world. I would ruin him for anyone else who tried to pick up the pieces. If he hated himself as much as he hated me then he was trapped.   


 

My plans were set. I’d done this before, a few times actually. Nothing new at all, at least what I had planned to do and I knew he hadn’t had so much as hand between his legs in weeks. There was a chance it had been longer, much longer. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t picture him curled up anywhere in my house stroking his prick. Maybe I was overconfident but he seemed utterly terrified at all times. If I always kept him so frightened I couldn’t picture him having the time to find a minute of release. 

 

He almost screamed, I saw his throat making all kinds of shapes holding his scream inside. Tear tracks marked his face in twin lines. 

 

“Well I asked you a question. Are you ignoring me?” He struggled to keep his voice calm as I ran my hand up and down his naked thigh.

 

“N-no. I...I’m so-sorry. I do like it, sir.” I smiled. He had taken to calling me sir. Master sometimes if I looked at him the right way.  His voice stuttering over syllables just to answer me was getting me hard already. But today was not the time. Well,  now  was not the time. I would take my pleasures later;  now I wanted to begin a new game. 

 

“I don’t think you do. And don’t you lie to me. In olden days they could cut out a man’s tongue for lying.” His tears increased, my fingers could wrap all the way around the thickest part of his leg without effort. He shook under my touch, quivering and small. "Would you like to test me?"   


 

“I do like it, I li-like it all. When you...you fu-fuck…” His words slurred to a sloppy mess. His lips were turning blue from his inability to suck down breath and speak at the same time. There was a whining in the back of his throat like a beat dog.

 

“Sh, shhh. Hush now. I know the truth. You will like it though. I know you will.” My hand traveled up, up, up and away. His cock was so soft under my fingers, but I knew what to do. His legs were like jello to either side of me, unable to stop the constant motion as he bucked against the bed. He struggled against himself, trying to hold still. It’s what I would have wanted if I asked. I didn’t ask. I let him move as he wanted. My fingers worked until he laid still.

 

When he was finally done shivering and shaking from just the slightest touch of my hand I  took one last look at him, so vulnerable there. If it was any other day I might slice off a side of skin, amputate a toe, break his kneecap. His light hair fell around his shoulders like a halo. Every inch of me wanted to hurt him. His eyes were screwed shut. He held his breath, waiting for punishment. I took his cock in my mouth. 

 

He hissed, but it wasn’t in pain. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm training somebody at work! Holy hell. Sorry for a lack of updates, but on top of this I'm working on a new collection of some Bolton pairings. Mayhaps I'll post that soon?


	47. Ever Heard of Pavlov?

 

 

He worked between my legs, I was terrified of what he wanted. Did he want me to enjoy it or fight against myself? He loved when I fought so I struggled for a few moments, but he truly did know what he was doing and it took him only a few minutes to get me hard. My eyes shut as I willed myself not to move. Disgust urged me to pull away, the aching need I discovered between my legs begged me to push against him.

 

I compromised by laying perfectly still and pretending I was dead. I tried to empty my mind like overturning a pail of water and letting it all splash on the ground, but once I was empty I felt the muscles contracting in my stomach and my legs and my ass  - everywhere basically.  It came over me in a dark sense of dread that my body enjoyed this.   


 

I heard his muffled voice, still working on me. He took just a moment’s rest and continued stroking me with his hand, his eyes looking up at me. I could always tell when he was looking at me, even when my eyes were shut. Even when he was in another room. Even if they strapped him to a rocket and sent him to Mars I would be able to feel his gaze. Another solar system could not stop the ice in his eyes when they were trained on me.   


 

“Ever heard of Pavlov?” He asked, as if I still understood anything, or heard of anybody or anything. I had no idea who _I_ was let alone this stranger. That was a lie. I knew who I was. Now. My calves shook and when I looked at him he was staring at the pink and white scar on my shoulder. Jagged and raw from where the bullet had ripped through.  He watched it jerk in time with my silent sobs.  


 

I shook my head, I couldn’t trust my voice. My cheeks were wet. I couldn’t open my mouth again, just yet. Stranger still he understood. He was accepting. Oh yes, this was very, very bad.

 

“He’s a scientist. Well psychologist actually. Well was. He's long dead. Very dead." He chuckled here because to him death was nothing but another state of being or not being. It was something he saw all the time. It didn't turn his stomach into hard tight knots or his arms into jelly. Dead. Just a four letter word. Like Gone or Here or Away. "He did this little experiment with dogs a while back.” 

 

I struggled to put together what he was telling me in case there was some kind of pop quiz later. He did that sometimes. Drag his nails into my back while he was fucking me. I was trying to disappear and he would start telling me about the person who invented Elmer’s Glue and later if I got the test wrong he would know I wasn’t paying attention and he’d do awful things. Just thinking about the last time we played this game made my chest hurt. Even Qyburn said nothing helps broken ribs heal but time. 

 

So I thought of the important things. Dogs. Scientist. Psychologist. Dead.   


 

“See, you know when you smell something great, really great and you get hungry and your mouth waters. He tried that with dogs. Making them hungry with smells. I mean he gave them good too I'm sure. Something good. And then he used a bell. So after a while whenever he rang the bell, even if there was nothing good to go with the sound the dogs got hungry. Even though it really meant nothing.” 

 

My heart was pounding so hard in my chest I felt it was going to break more ribs. I wasn’t hard anymore, I was struggling to follow what he was telling me, I could see a scowl on his face as I wilted in his hands. I still wasn’t sure what he wanted but I wanted to remember what he was saying. It was already gone, like smoke in the air. Hungry and bells and dogs. Did he want me to do something with the girls. Was I feeding them enough? Too much? I bolted upright, holding myself on my elbows on his bed and suddenly felt this was all wrong. One big trap. I struggled against his hands. If only he would let me go I could figure things out. I could watch his eyes, see his teeth - wait for the signs that would come with my guesses.   


 

“Mas-master. I’m sorry, you should be in the bed, I do-don’t deserve to b-be here. I’ll go feed the g-g-girls.” I felt a fresh flood of tears. I was failing the test. I let him use _his_ mouth on _me_ , that was what I was suppose to do for him. He wasn’t suppose to worry about how I felt, or what I wanted. He never wanted it to feel anything but awful for me. Soon enough I’d get my punishment and in a panic I tried to crawl over him onto the floor. He pushed me back with enough force to hold me down.

 

“Stop this. It’s not a trick. It’s your turn. Forget about the dogs and the scientist. I should know not to confuse you." His scowl melted like soft butter, his eyes were back on that scar. He continued, "I want you in this bed. I want to do things to you.” He crawled on top of me, pressing himself to me, holding me down into the silk. The air left me when his lips touched mine. I didn’t scream or fight. I accepted it. When he kissed me again, I kissed him back. 

 

** X **

 

He thrust into my mouth a few moments later. I told him to. He couldn’t fight with that. I told him it was okay. I told him he could come. That’s what he had been waiting for. That was what had him so confused to the point of tears and screaming. He still sobbed, he moaned under his breath as he soaked the blankets around his head. He gasped and clutched at his own chest because he was terrified to touch me. He fingers dug into his own stomach, pushing himself down. Semi circles of his nails dotted his heaving abdomen. He was causing his own new bruises and I chuckled thinking perhaps this wouldn't be so difficult after all. 

 

My mouth worked tirelessly. It had only been minutes and already I could tell he was close. I could tell he was holding back, afraid maybe for my mouth to snap shut. It wouldn’t. I couldn’t do that. It would have been beautiful to see the look on his face, to see terror in his eyes. I'm sure his scream would have been the most magical thing to ring out in my ears and I would go to my grave happy and thinking back on that sound. But what was even more glorious was seeing terror on his face there anyway from nothing but pleasure. Finally he let out one long, low groan. He was forgetting for one second where he was, what he was, who he was. For one second he remembered what it was like to feel a throat wrap around his cock as he came. Then it was over and he was shuddering and shaking and apologizing and terrified that he hadn’t pulled out of my mouth. He would have thrashed himself if I let him.  


 

I told him it was alright as I ran the back of my hand over my lips. I crawled back into my bed and asked him, kindly enough to get ready for the night and go to sleep downstairs. He just kept muttering thank you in that broken way he does as he limped out room, naked and shivering.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sex in this E rated fic is lacking somewhat. So I think we're going to be picking up a bit with that. Also sorry for shitty spelling / obvious issues. Can barely see right now as my nose is bandaged up pretty badly and it seems like my vision is even more limited than it normally is.


	48. Chapter 48

 

 

For the next five days, no matter what happened during regular daytime hours, sometime late at night when everything else was done Ramsay would take his Reek into his bedroom. Reek still wasn’t allowed in the room other than when Ramsay brought him in, tugging at a reluctant hand. Each night the sheets were a little different. One night a silk pink, another night a satin red, the third night a thin maroon cotton. Reek never changed the sheets and never saw them in the wash. For all he knew his master burned them after Reek laid on them. 

 

Every night it took less and less time to make Ramsay’s pet come. The first night was a struggle, uphill the whole time. The second night it was easier. The third night easier still. By the fifth night Reek couldn’t wait. He had been extra good all day, and when the sun set he was anxious. He finished everything he could think of doing in record time, just desperate for something, anything. He was repulsed by himself, by the new hardness he discovered between his legs every time he thought of the night ahead of him. 

 

It was hopeless. No matter what he did he found himself excited. He would still turn a furious shade of pink when he was stripped down, he would scream at himself whenever lips met the head of his waiting cock, and yet he would come with a swift orgasm each and every night. 

 

Ramsay let his pet enjoy things. He knew what was coming. When the sun set on the sixth day it was time to start the second part of this game. If Reek had paid any attention at all he would have the thought of that scientist lingering in the back of his mind. He would have thought of dogs and bells and saliva. Instead he only thought of coming in his master’s mouth. 

 

** X **

 

It had been a long day, a long day of waiting. Every time I thought of what was going to happen that night I felt apprehension stir somewhere inside me, but the anxiety that had been massive days ago was already a small speck in the distance. Everything in the day was the same. He still made me do everything I had been doing, crawling around as I did constantly now. He could fuck me over the kitchen table if he wanted. I still felt tears on my cheeks, but I also felt a heat somewhere south of my stomach. I was hard as he fucked me, hitting some deeply hidden spot that just would not go away no matter what I tried to concentrate on. He ignored the ache between my legs in favor of his own. 

 

No matter, when he was done I was just expected to go on as I had before, without wanting or needing anything. I did. I didn’t expect anything at all, even the nighttime sessions where I was the star instead of a supporting actor could be taken away any time. Part of me hoped he would stop it. Things would be back to normal. I didn’t _ want _ to enjoy things. I didn’t even want to think about what was going ont. 

 

So when it got dark and he silently tugged me into the bedroom I was excited, scared, and always ready. The smallest part of me, a part that was nameless and almost faceless protested. Not because this might be a test or a trick but because it was something that miniature part of me wanted nothing to do with. I silenced that part. It was always dangerous to turn Ramsay down, to tell him no. This, this wasn’t even bad - truly. It had been so long since I’d felt the way he made me feel and I was enjoying it, much to my own disgust. I fought with myself on that aspect too. It was one thing to let him do what he wanted, a whole 'nother to enjoy it and almost beg. He wanted me to enjoy it, so shouldn’t that make me happy? To feel how he wanted me to feel? It tied my mind into tight little knots so I choose to ignore it.  


 

His fingers tugging on mine, pulling me into the darkened room. I had no idea tonight would be different. 

 

I let my pants fall to my ankles, stepping out of them as easily as I could with my maimed feet. I never wore socks anymore. Ramsay loved to look at them, I'd catch his eyes lingering at them when I sat on the floor, knees tucked under my chin. He’d never had a foot thing, but just seeing the damage - _repairs_ , as he called it, made him hard. Since he had taken the first toe another had followed. One of those days after he had caught me in the woods. He had sent me running, his commands to run. I ran, when he caught me he punished me for running.  What I had thought would be impossible to cope with was something I dealt with.

 

Four per foot remained.  They ached terribly. He told me it was all he would take from me. Unless I needed reminding never to run away, or disobey, or tell him no. 

 

I let myself fall back into the bed, my knees knocking together as I struggled to a position I knew would be most comfortable for him. He preferred to be on the carpet instead of on the bed with me.  When I was finally in place he knelt down to me, resting between my legs. I would never be used to that sight, his dark hair bobbing up and down, his eyes shut or at least downcast. 

 

Tonight started like all other nights. 

 

“Reek? Are you enjoying yourself?” I was already hard and he hadn’t even touched me. I flushed darker than I had been before. I wanted to shut my knees together. I wanted to tell him no. I wanted that to be the answer that was true. I felt tears already on my lashes. No matter how much I loved it I still felt something telling me it was all so wrong. He could be as gentle as butterfly wings and I would still let a few tears slip through. He never minded though. 

 

“Ye-ye-yes” I struggled, the words thick in my throat. It was truth no matter what I told myself. I was enjoying myself. It didn’t take much to see that. He smiled, all his teeth flashing bright white.   


 

“Well I’m not going to keep you waiting.” He started stroking my hardness, watching me for a moment before setting to work with his tongue. I would never understand how he had gotten _so_ good as what he did. It was just like every night before. Minutes into my only source of pleasure I could feeling the building of my orgasm. Could feel myself running towards a steep drop off into the blackness of oblivion. I tried to stave it off, tried to make myself last, but I let out a muffled gasp as my only warning. He knew all the signs already, and so it wasn’t very difficult to predict when I would come. 

 

Just as I was about to step over that cliff, just as I was about to let go I felt something burning and sharp and brutal on my thigh. That forever tender skin being opened so quickly I couldn’t even cry out. It was all too late, the warmth of my own blood running down my leg, pooling around my naked ass was just a backdrop. Even with the sharp sting from the blade biting into my leg I came. Ramsay’s mouth slurping obscenely around my cock, his hand wrapped around the knife’s hilt. I let out a low moan that turned into a soft scream. My hands cupped my mouth, surprise flitted through me. Pleasure and pain mixed together, ruining my only moment and heightening it somehow.This must be how he felt all the time. Is this how it is?   


 

In my moment of oblivion I though clearly, he’s truly ruining me. Then I let the orgasm overcome me and I was swept into a dark cloud of blackness. 

 

** X **

 

He had passed out. Literally screamed - not near as loud as I thought he would, and blacked out. I gave him a minute, exposed with redness dripping on my darkest sheets I tried to reposition my own erection so it wasn’t so needy. Gently. I thought to myself for the thousandth time. In order for him to actually crave the pain I needed him to be eased into it. If his reaction were any indication I would say I was on the right path. 

 

I stood up, grabbing a glass off my table and walking to the bathroom, filling the cup with cool tap water. When I came back into the room he was just coming around. His eyes fluttering and refusing to stay open.I took a sip from the glass, swishing the coldness in my mouth, erasing the salty aftertaste down my throat.   


 

“Well, I’d say you enjoyed that.” I sat on the bed beside him, helping him lift himself up. He took the glass from me, for a moment forgetting everything. His finger prints rested over my own, beads of moisture dripped from the glass onto his bare legs. He didn't seem to notice, instead was looking off at the wall in front of him.   


 

“Ye-ye-ye-yes. Th-th-th-thank y-y-you.” Chattering like a broken record, his voice weak and skipping.  I put my hand under his and helped him bring the glass to his lips. 

 

“Drink.” He did, as if he had just been waiting for me to tell him what to do. His eyes remained on that wall, his lips shaking as his throat gulped down water.   


 

“Was that good?” I asked, honestly curious. His body told me all I needed to know, the red still running down his leg, I watched the trickle on his knee cap. He didn’t even look down. His face a delicious shade of red. He nodded, timid. 

 

“Tell me, did it hurt?”He nodded again, even more slight this time. If I wasn’t paying such close attention I would have missed it. His face flushed darker, begin to creep down his neck and into his chest. The color was angry against the bits of him that were porcelain colored. Even if he hadn’t enjoyed it he would. 

 

 

 


	49. never going to let you go

 

Half the nights I had no idea what to expect. No idea what so ever. After that night our schedule dissolved into madness. I hadn’t really enjoyed it, it had hurt less than other things, but the scar still would pop out on my thigh. Every time a seam of my pants would brush against the rough skin I was reminded of it, more than any of the other scars. This was the worst. As much as I tried to avoid thinking about it, I had enjoyed it on some visceral level. It wasn’t even the act or the sting or the blood. It was everything good that had come with it. The good being the release, finally feeling half a man again when so much had been taken away from me. That I could still feel good at all. Then I thought of what had made me feel good and felt queasy.  


 

It ached to move my leg, but I did as I always did and ignored the itch of healing skin. I pressed on without trying to favor that side. For a few days thing went to how they were before. I wasn’t taken into his bedroom at night, and part of me sighed long and hard in thanks that it wasn’t going to happen. Another part of me yearned to go back into his room, to keep on with what we were doing. I knew I had no right to demand anything. I had no right to even ask. 

 

After maybe four days he brought me back into his room. Partly I was terrified of being cut just inches away again. I shook at the thought, but when he pushed me on the bed he had nothing in his hands but me. One hand wrapped around my cock, the other wrapped around my leg, just above my knee. When I came there was no pain.  I wanted to scream. Was the fading burn in my leg a lie? Had I imagined it happening? Had it happened some other way? I was losing it I thought emotionless.   


 

The next day was the same. The third night I was cut again. A slow slice from my kneecap up. I knew it was real this time. I felt myself getting soft in his mouth, he stopped the blade but I was terrified, my leg on fire. It had been a little deeper this time and I already felt the warmth seeping out of me down my calf. He tripled his efforts it seemed, and it only took a few minutes for me to begin enjoying it again. I twisted against him like I had the first few times, my hands pulling my hair nearly out. The knife didn’t make another appearance for almost two weeks. I lived in fear though. Enjoyment and terror. I teetered on the edge with my fucked up feet for days.   


 

By the time he figured he would try again it didn’t take long for me to come. I’d say at least five minutes, at most ten. One night as he felt my balls tighten he sliced my stomach. It was shallow enough and I was already coming when he did it. I let it bite into me -what else could I do but let out a whimper as I tried to pull away. He held me where I was was I came. For the next week he’d pull out a blade randomly. Mostly towards the end, when I was just as close as could be. Small slices, until I barely noticed. Honestly it became so normal that I just didn't notice really. He was shallow and quick and he would wait until he knew I couldn't hold back.  


 

When it didn’t much matter if he was cutting me to shreds or not when I was coming he’d bring out the knife earlier. For months it seemed to go on, slow - so slowly. Some nights we’d stay in separate rooms all night. Some nights he would come downstairs into the cold basement and bend me over the stairs  - half sleeping and fuck me til I roared with pain. He'd pin my wrists against the cold concrete and tell me to enjoy it as I felt blood trickle down the back of my leg. Sometimes he would take me into his bedroom for hours, some nights for minutes, some nights he’d suck my cock and pull out his knife and see how long until I came. Some nights he didn’t care about me coming. It was all random it seemed. I was becoming even more of a mess than I had before. I yanked on my hair trying to think of what was going to happen that day. Sometimes I wanted to wake up, accept anything and everything he gave me. Other days I tried to lock myself in a closet and pretend I was dead, praying I would be dead soon enough.   


 

I don’t know when it hit me but at some point I thought that he had been making me come every time with the knife. This must have struck him too, because around the time this thought danced through my mind he brought it into the fucking.Until then he'd only used it when he blew me. When his lips were around my cock I was always thinking about the blade. When he was fucking me though I thought I was safe from it.   


 

I never liked that much. I had no say, he’d just tug my pants down and push me down onto whatever was closest. If there was nothing around the ground would do. I never came. It hurt far too much. No matter how much I relaxed I always felt tears gushing down my face and by the time he was done and if I wasn’t screaming I was whimpering and pathetically trying to disappear into the floor. Dig myself a hole and hide in it.   


  
It wasn’t always so bad, sometimes he would hit a spot - something hidden somewhere I could never reach and I would see stars for a few seconds. The surprise of it all was the most shocking part, but he never aimed, never tried to make me feel anything but disgust at myself. Until one day in the kitchen he made me feel something new.   


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, trying to juggle a lot of things right now. Going in for blood work soon, doctors think my thyroid is all kinds of messed up. So I'll keep you updated as best I can. So once more, sorry for not updating this tons and tons. Right now I'm only working on little oneshots for my other stuff but I promise I'll work on this story more.


	50. maybe make a little sense.

 

 

This day was different, he was slow, careful. I was standing at the kitchen table, my hands on the wood in front of me. I don't know what I was doing really, probably just starting into the grains mindlessly when I should have been cooking or cleaning or sucking him off. He eased into me as slowly as he could, as gently as he could. His cock was wet, so easy to take I barely felt the burning of his entry at all. He tilted his hips up, and then the stars came. Bright and beautiful and distracting - they filled my vision. Darkness everywhere that wasn’t blazingly bright. I bit my lip, let my teeth dig in for a moment. There was no way I could be enjoying this. No way. It wasn’t possible. I felt myself harden as I thought no over and over again. 

 

Cold steel bit into my hip, the tip of the cool metal against my bone. My face was burning with shame even as I pushed back against him. I could feel his smile, could see the glint in his eyes as he made one slow motion and I felt blood rush to the surface of broken skin. His teeth lowered to my ear, I thought he was going to bite like a rabid dog but I felt his words humming there instead.   


 

 

"You like this, don't you? You love it in your ass." 

 

I moaned, I couldn't help it - at least that's what I keep telling myself. He cut me again. I pushed back, taking all of him inside me, wanting desperately to reach that spot that he had reached. I wanted to see those stars. I wanted to be lost in space. I wanted to float through the rest of my miserable life. I could forget everything if I just pushed a little harder. So I did. I felt twin trails of sticky copper dripping. 

 

 

"You are such a dirty whore." He spit in my direction. I tasted blood when my broken teeth closed on a spot piece of my cheek. I swallowed hard and squirmed underneath him. 

 

He tugged his knife against my skin again, catching a jagged piece of flesh, a quick tear, but then he was fucking me in just the perfect spot. He had hit the bulls-eye and I was gone, lost again. I couldn’t help myself. My body was betraying me, so I just shut off my mind. I was becoming a master at becoming blank, my skin was on fire, my legs were shaking.  His teeth nipped at my bare shoulder, but not harshly. It was a soft bite, his teeth found skin and closed, but not hard enough to break the thin flesh. Just enough to make me moan as softly as I could. His hot breath on my neck, his pace steady, one hand supporting himself against the table I was leaning on, the other wrapped in my hair. He’d lost his knife somewhere along the way. He was as lost as I was, I thought senselessly. He tugged on my head, but not cruelly. His hand traveled to my face, making a lazy loop around my lips, clutching my jaw hard enough to jar me for a few moments - before returning my hair. 

 

 

His voice in my ear again whispering nothing in particular. I bent over the table fully, doubled in half. My feet were off the ground as I felt the table slamming against the wall and I thought that can't be right, that's too loud, it's too hard - this is good, good, good. The word slurring in my mind to a muddled mess of sounds while he pressed me down further - my face meeting the solid surface of the wood under me. His hand kept me pinned there. I didn't fight, I just accepted it feeling nothing but him.   


  
  


I came. I shuddered against the table, every muscle in my body tight. It hurt from the tips of my toes to every inch of hair on my head, it was like I was inches from snapping. Then the taut piano string inside me gave up. Boneless. I cried out, one gasp, I pressed myself against him. His hands were sticky with my blood against my scalp. Two more thrusts and he was finished. Pushing against me, before I could turn around he was gone. 

 

“Clean up.”  I heard, just barely. “You’re absolutely disgusting.” His words broke halfway through the sentence but there he was - cold again. Any warmth I felt was gone, like the sun disappearing behind the clouds. I floated in between the kitchen and the sky, unsure what had just happened. I brought my arms up to cross over my stomach, aching from where the table had slashed into my gut. My head was swimming. I let myself finally come back, let my mind open back up - felt my shame and disgust race through my body on the edges of my nervous system. Panic filled my head, what was that? What was wrong with me. I enjoyed it. I rocked on my heels for a few moments. Had he really been gentle. Had it really been not so terrible. One look at the table and I could see the mess I had made. I felt the matching mess running down the inside of my legs. 

 

On my way to the sink to get a paper towel to clean up my mess - and it was mine, I caught a glimpse of myself in the dark window. I stopped in my tracks. 

 

Gore covered my face, crimson streaks lines my jaw and lips like war paint. Clumps of my own drying blood were clotted in my light hair. The red standing out among the greyness. Gaunt and haunted as a skeleton I looked like a dead man - or like some fierce warrior coming back from the grave. My lips twitched into what could have been called a smile, once. Then it was gone. 

 

I scrubbed my face in the sink, ran wet hands through my hair to get out the matted blood, although I knew Ramsay would love it if I left it there, to clot and stain my grey into red. I was halfway done with the kitchen, cleaning the table, and chairs, and the floor before I realized I was still bleeding. Droplets of red followed me around on the linoleum from where steel met skin. 

 

The cuts were deep, I noticed. I ran my hand over my leg, feeling the edges of my newest wounds. I was disgusted with myself when I trembled from even my own fingertips against the opening. I looked again, letters floated upside down into my view.  Whore was my newest word, etched into my thigh. My cock twitched. Ashamed I promised it would never happen again, I would never enjoy that again. But what had it been exactly? 

 

As I scrubbed on my hands and knees, trying to ignore the fire inside my stomach, the rawness of my thighs, the pounding of my head, I thought desperately why did I like this?   


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first things first - I'm so sorry this took so long. I promise I'm going to write more. I swear I will I just had a lot of things going on. I haven't even been on the internet in two weeks. I've worked 14 out of 14 of the past days and on top of that I have some kind of autoimmune thing I think, basically after many doctor's visits and Xrays (my thyroid was swollen to the point where it cut off my airway for a day) I'm on steroids now? We'll see if that helps. Also personal problems that I'm not sure I want to talk about just yet....So as always feedback is love, I'll try to be a little more active.


	51. Just Leave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visitor tries to take Reek away.

 

 

It’s drizzling and humid - that is if anyone can consider just above freezing humid. The snow is starting to melt, finally. Reek is working, hands red and chapped. His digits have been in bleach often lately that he thinks it’s starting to really soak in, mingle with his blood. He’s half cleaning products. He’s not thinking anymore, he’s just doing. He’s blank as a piece of unmarked paper when the doorbell chimes. 

 

His first thought is Ramsay; not in those syllabus of course. Master is what shoots through his mind. He has a moment to think _why_ before he’s rushing to the door. Why doesn’t matter. Why isn’t the problem. He’s forgotten his keys, the garage door must be stuck, something that doesn’t matter much to Reek. Why doesn't concern him anymore. He just acts.   


 

When he opens the door instead he sees a woman with thick dark hair. The world stills. Her car is parked in the drive still steaming in the misty air. 

 

“Theon, come with me.” She says, her hand is out to him, her eyes are wide and she’s repulsed even though she’s offering help. If he took her hand and approached her car she'd lay down a plastic bag over the seat so he wouldn't ruin it. She can’t be anything but repulsed. His shirt is splashed with stains; bleach, blood, come, sweat. Those are only some of the things he remembers splashing himself. 

 

He’s trying to find her name on the tip of his tongue. Something with an A. Anna?  Ashlynn? The fumes must have gotten to him while the world spins. Thunder cracks somewhere far away. He tries to catch his breath but all he can think of is that she shouldn’t be here. 

 

“Theon, please. You’re not well. He’s done something. To you. Please, I’ll take care of you. Please.” Her voice cracks and her face is wet. Clumps of dark mascara clot on her lashes like spider corpses. Reek looks past her, staring at the melting snow. She should not be here.   


 

“Y-y-you need to leave.”

 

“Please, I don’t know what he’s done but I need you to come with me. We can go straight to the police.”

 

“N-no. Thank you. I do n-not want to g-go to the police.” Even he sounds practiced to himself. Asha. That’s it. Maybe if he uses her name she’ll see he’s fine. He’s happy here now. His body throbs under his clothes and he realizes it’s colder out here on the porch than he thought it was. She tries to push past him, to get behind him and force him away from the house - he can’t leave. So he backs up until he's back behind the door and shuts it a bit. 

 

“Please, Asha, just leave.” 

 

It was the wrong thing to say. Her face is incredulous. His body aches. It feels like he’s standing on a bed of needles. He tries to shift his feet behind the door so she doesn’t see them. It’s not really a problem anymore you can learn to live with anything.  _ Traitor  _ bumps against the doorknob and sends a mess of shivers through his body.   


 

“Look, you’re freezing, please let me just take you home for a few days.” He thinks of the words on his body. His heart thuds dully in his chest and he can feel  _ Reek _ thud with it. She wants to take Theon. But Theon isn’t here anymore. 

 

‘“I’m fine.”

 

“He’s not a good guy, Theon.” They both know who  _ he _ is and Reek knows any moment he will be back. For her sake he tries to shut the door all the way.

 

“I don’t wa-want to leave. G-g-g-go away.” And he slams the door. It’s heavy and the sudden banging seems to echo in the empty house. One of the girls in the back start howling. It sounds like Sansa, the newest bitch. She’s got a high pitch that  warbles. The hound in her makes her whiny. Reek leans against the door and he can hear her voice, coming through the wood. She’s begging him to come with her. Her fist pounds on the door. The buzzer rings a few more times. Reek just sits, his back to the wood, his mind spinning, the world smelling like Pine Sol.  When she finally leaves he gets back up and finishes cleaning the kitchen. His knees turning an ugly shade of red. Sansa whines for what seems like days.   


 

When his Master returns he’s not surprised. 

 

“I knew she would come. She’s not blind. She’s seen you. And what did you tell her?”

 

Reek looks up, his eyes wide as if he could open them and let Ramsay see the truth without ever speaking again.

 

“To leave.”

 

“And she left?” 

 

“She t-tried to come in. I sh-shut her out.” 

 

“Good. You don’t want to leave do you. You’re happy here.”

 

Reek’s head bops up and down like a puppet on a string. It’s so much easier, and getting easier every day. He is happy here, he thinks. And when he’s not happy he thinks he could be happy. He only has to be good. He doesn’t have to think. He just does. It’s so much simpler when he stops letting his mind run him down. If he left he would just be back in the same place, with himself tearing him in two. Wondering who he really was.   


 

Ramsay orders take out that night. A reward. A treat, for a well behaved pet. 

 

Theon loved pork dumplings. Shrimp fried rice. Spicy spit roasted chicken. Egg drop soup. But Reek just loves anything served in his Master’s hand. Ramsay slurps down noodles and then places a dumpling in the palm of his hand and lowers it to his pet. 

  
Reek's never tasted anything finer. 

 

 


	52. Daddy Dearest

 

“That’s it. You’re going to bring him with you tomorrow, or I’ll take him tonight. You won’t have him hiding behind you any more.”

 

I was seething. My fingers clenched, unclenched, back and forth until I felt my nails cutting into my palm. My father stared at me, disapproval in his eyes. To anyone else they would look simply empty, but to me they were teeming with rage. A calm, quiet rage - but it was there all the same. I bit my lip to stop from screaming. 

 

“He’s in no shape to be in public.” I managed to mumble. He burned silently inside himself.

 

“Well I won’t let him deal with the public. But he will be there.”

 

Not for the first time I knew he wished me to be the one who died instead of his fucking other offspring. I could read his mind,  _ Dom would never do something like this _ .  But Dom was dead, I was alive and I was all he had. My father was a furious man, who kept things so locked inside himself I knew one day he’d snap and kill every single person in range. Today was just a step towards that direction. 

 

I hadn’t known he would show up today. I should have been more careful. I’d been getting sloppy, and this - this was the last straw. I would not have my Reek taken away from me, once he was finally enjoying himself as much as I was enjoying him. His revolution was just an added bonus. 

 

I was out back, hadn’t even been in the house when the doorbell rang. Reek, my loving, faithful, ever obedient plaything answered the door - as he was expected to. My father waited on the other side. 

 


	53. A Lid for Every Pot - that's what they tell me.

 

He had piercing cold eyes, just like Ramsay. Shark eyes that devoured everything and left fist sized holes through me in his wake. His face twitched for barely a second before I even knew why. I thrust my hand between my legs, trying to cover myself as best I could. Even covering what little I could, he saw everything else. Entire patches of skin had been removed, the vacant spaces on both my feet, bruises everywhere, my neck purple and rubbed raw from rough hands, his eyes took it all in. Bitemarks, old and new covered parts of me that nobody should have to see other than myself at this point. Rope burns criss crossed my thighs. I felt the tingle of a thousand scrapes and burns all over my body. I felt grated, raw and used. His eyes rested on the patch on my chest, under my pounding heart.  _ Reek _ burned as if it had been carved all over again. My cock twitched. I fought back tears. If I cried in front of him he'd kill me. I knew him as suddenly as I knew his son. Weakness wasn't tolerated. His posture told me that much.  


 

His eyes met mine; how he found it in him to pull away from the train-wreck that was my body was beyond me. I left my hands hanging in front of my crotch, then looked down. I knew who he was from the eyes. He could only be one person. 

 

“H-hello, Mr. B-b-bolton.” I struggled, I felt like I should melt into a puddle on the carpet, but knew I couldn’t turn away, even to get something to cover myself unless I was allowed. Ramsay liked me like this now. Crawling around naked on my hands and knees if there was nobody else here. Nobody was ever around anymore. Occasionally a gardener would appear out of the clear blue skin to trim the hedges, but he’d never come inside. I'd only go outside if he wasn't home, and only to feed the girls. To let them out of the cages for a few hours to roam the woods and come back with gore on their muzzles and dirt on their paws.   


 

I don’t even know why I answered the door without bothering to cover up. What if it had been Asha? What if it had been Skinner? Or Damon? Or any of the boys. I guess I thought if it had been Asha she’d be horrified and leave me alone once and for all, although that hope was mostly gone. I guess it was just normal for me anymore to be reduced down to nothing really. I did most things without thinking.The boys sent me into a fit of shakes, but if Ramsay wanted them here, well how could I protest? My thoughts weren't fit to be voiced when I managed to cobble them together at all.   


 

Now I was going to pay for it.For being ignorant and innocent and trying in vain to be good.  


 

He looked me up and down once more, before he sighed. The first sound I’d heard him make. My eyes met the carpet, I felt the burning of a terrible blush creeping all over my body. 

 

“You’re the Greyjoy boy?” His words were crisp, starched and clean. No emotion. No fury or rage. No humor. No mocking. Nothing. It was eerie. I nodded, I couldn’t trust myself to speak. Laughter would have been easier to accept than an empty void just waiting for me to answer. Waiting for me to speak like some kind of person.   


“Th-th-they call me R-r-r-reek.” I mumbled. 

“Well I would call you by your real name. Now put some clothes on.” I struggled to cover myself as I raced to the nearest pair of pants. Anything to cover myself. I ended up slipping into a filthy pair of grey sweatpants I used half the time as a pillow. The shirt could wait, but even the shame of my mutilated chest and back was much more tolerable than the vulnerability of complete nudity.   


In the seconds it had taken me to get dressed Roose had retrieved his son from out back and the two sat at the kitchen table, staring at each other. Ramsay was furious. I could see it in his face, the way he bit his lip, the way his eyes were wide with hatred. I’d been the person that look had been directed at many times. I wanted to crawl under the table and suck his cock until he dissolved back. Or take him into the living room and bend over the couch and let him rake his nails down my arm while he slammed into me. He needed something to push his tension into or he would blow like a volcano. I had missed part of the conversation - silently I slunk into the room.  

“Father I - “

“Enough. I will hear no more about it. You can’t keep people as pets.” 

My heart quivered, it soared in my chest like it had grown wings. I felt positively fidgety. If Roose said something it was to be taken as law. I was sure of that much. Then I felt my heart harden. Did I want to be taken away. I did, didn’t I? I pressed myself against the wall and pretended not to exist as to not ruin the moment. Something thumped behind my eyes, pressing it’s fists against a door inside me. I didn’t want to leave, it was the same way I felt when that woman showed up on my doorstep trying to make me go with her. 

“I told you, if you want to keep him, he’ll have to work for his keep.”

I trembled. Then they noticed me. 

** X **

“Theon, is it? Come here boy, sit.” My father patted the chair next to him, the solid wood that had last seated Reek when he decided to poison himself. I saw him twisting, nervously against the wall. To answer? Not to answer? Either way there would be hell to pay. I glared at him, daring him to defy me. No dogs at the table, I had told him.That was a firm rule unless I explicitly told him otherwise. _Dogs do not eat with people. That's positively unsanitary. I'll have to bleach the goddamn seats after you get your disgusting ass to sit on them._  


“M-may, I just, please. Please, may I-I S-s-s-stand?” His words were all broken and tumbled together. I let a smile tinge my lips, very good. My father’s face betrayed no emotion to anyone by me. He was appalled.I saw it in the way his eyelashes fluttered, trying to block out something dangerous. The way his nose flared - so slight but definitely in response to something rotten he didn't want to deal with.   


“Suit yourself, boy.” He said it like a curse, as if it were some despicable thing. I chewed my lower lip. I pulled off dry skin between my front teeth and swallowed hard. 

“So, Father. Working? Really? What do you suppose he’d do.” I tried not to look at him, tried to look anywhere but, try as I might my eyes kept slipping to him - pressed against that wall. His ribs jutting out until I could count every one across the room. I wanted him. Red faced and screaming into those awful sweatpants he'd put on at my father's command. I wanted my father gone more though. I let my eyes roll to show it didn’t matter if he stayed or went, but I crossed my fingers beneath the wood and hoped he’d leave soon. 

“I’d find something. They say a lid for every pot.” I chewed harder, bringing the teeth into the tender flesh again and again. Dry skin gone I worked on the raw pink underneath. I wanted to gnaw on something more substantial, but I was sure it wouldn’t be welcome. Reek silently buzzed in his corner, ringing his hands out. “And do not let him show up as I found him.” 

His pretty pink hue drained to a bloodless white, almost transparent. He was hypnotizing. I sighed again and tried to focus on the man in front of me, not my pet to the side. 

“That’s how he does all his best work, if you’d like to see I’m sure he’ll give you a demonstration.” Nonchalance to bother him. To start an itch under his skin. I wanted him to leave the house with bumps from the bedbugs I was giving him. I also had no such ideas to give my pet over to him at all. He would not, could not, but I wanted to see his eyes widen. My father had less of a reaction. I accepted it, as he declined the offer.

“I’d rather not. I’ll see what he is capable of tomorrow.” He stood, tugging on the jacket he had thrown over the back of his chair. Slipping one arm in smooth as silk he faced me again. “And he will be capable of working - one way or another.” I heard the threat cut through the air. I tried not to break the skin of my abused mouth, failing as copper coated my tongue. 

  
I walked him halfway to the door and let him show himself out. 


	54. being good

“Reek.”

 

“Y-yes?”

 

“Come upstairs tonight.”

 

I can feel the puzzled look on my face already. He takes my hand and leads me up the stairs, into his room. His bed. Soft and plush and so nice against my aching back. As soon as his father left he fucked me raw against the kitchen sink. Nothing soft or sweet or gentle. Nothing good. Just an endless throbbing in my already sore ass as he dug his nails into hips to hold me in place.  His teeth bit down against my shoulder, catching a piece of skin between them. He took the skin with him when he pulled away. His bloody lips brushed against my ear as he came. I could _barely_ hear what he was saying, but under all the breathing and sighing and hissing into my face I heard him saying again and again, ‘you’re mine.’ I didn’t come until he whispered it in my ear. 

 

Then he called me a dozen names for all the same thing and stormed outside. He was gone for a few hours. He came back, tossing a pink shirt wrapped up in cheap plastic onto the  couch and then he was storming back outside. He spent most of the day in the woods. When he came back he was covered in dirt, his hair was tangled into a nest on top of his head. I listened to his voice inside me telling me who I belonged to for the hours he was gone. 

 

Now upstairs, I spread my legs, my back against the sheets, waiting for him to do it again.When he made me get on my back it was the worst. I barely felt shame anymore around him, but when I had to lay under him and look into his face -I would shudder just thinking about it. He would hold my feet up near his head and I had to look at my toes, all eight of them, wriggling and clenching to avoid his too wide eyes. 

 

It would last longer this time I was sure. But he chuckled and his fingers closed my knees together, the bone banging together like cymbals. I tried not to look at him. 

 

“Come here.” There was a heaviness to his voice as he crawled over me onto the bed, resting against the pillows. He lay on the sheet, pulling the blanket around him. He had tugged off his own pants somewhere along the line. He smelled Earthy. Dirt flecked his arms and under his nails. His hair tousled still. His eyes red. He looked as I’d never seen him before - utterly exhausted. I inched up cautiously. 

 

“Listen to me, you have to go with me tomorrow. Understand? To work.” I nodded. His voice was as gentle as his fingertips that touched the hollow of my throat. I tried not to breath as he traced the indentation of my neck. He tugged me down against him, we lay on our sides, breathing and not saying a word. My heart beat wildly in my chest, hammering against the skin - begging  to get out as his hands crept around me. I waited for them to lower, to tug down my pants, to press my back forward til I was bent in half. I waited and waited and it never came. 

 

“I...I don’t know what my father will have you doing. I want you to try to stay with me, you were….very good today.” The words tumbled out, a struggle on his sleepy tongue. He tugged me closer to him, tighter until I couldn’t feel where I ended and he began. His chest to my back; our skin hot against each other. 

 

“I don’t w-want to g-go.” If we were being honest I was terrified. Horror washed over me in waves all day, coming and going. His father was the first person I’d see, _ really seen _ in such a long time. I hadn’t even been past the front lawn in months. To think about going somewhere with so many people, so many bodies, so many hands touching me and expecting me to do something - anything. Tears came so easily to me anymore. 

 

“We don’t have much of a choice.” His voice was thick with sleep. It was tired and warm against my neck. I felt myself lean into him, his arms tightening for a moment. I shut my eyes against my blurring vision. “Remember, you’re mine.”

 

“Thank you.” I murmured, my lips pressed against the flesh of his arm. I’d slept like this many times in a different life. I’d had heads rest against my arm, my chest, my hand. It all felt so strange and familiar at the same time. I tried not to flinch when I felt his lips against the crown of my head. They rested there, pressing against the greasy mop. I lay still and let him hum into my skull. 

  
He fell asleep with his hands clutching my chest- as if I were going somewhere. 


	55. spring cleaning

He cleaned up well, he almost looked human again. I felt my cock harden watching him descend the steps like a Disney prince. His shoulders stiff, legs straight, eyes wide and watery in dark sockets.  He looked half a Bolton himself, at least he belonged to a Bolton  - there would be no doubts on that. In my mind I heard the rapid misfiring of arousal seeping into my veins, felt it all the way down into my toes. A light airy feeling just looking at him, then I let it slip through me until it was almost gone.   


 

There had been hurried moments the day before when I tore through my closet looking for something to give him to wear. Nothing suitable for publicly of his fit anymore. Nothing of his that fit looked even remotely suitable for public life.  The dilemma continued while I browsed through his meager outfits. The few things he had, left over tee shirts, stained boxers that pooled around his ankles when he tried them on - were too large, discolored with stains nobody short of god would get out or clothing that was just improper. Somewhere at the bottom of a drawer in a guest room I’d found a suit, more than a few sizes too small for myself. I only wondered for a few moments who it belonged to before decided my pet would be the perfect new owner. I’d run out myself and purchased the smallest dress shirt I could find for him to match the tiny pants and jacket I’d given him. Like a doll.   


 

Dark black overcoat, crisp pink button up - the color of the scars that covered his body. His belt was cinched tight enough that I had to drill a new hole through the leather to keep his pants on his bony hips. He washed up that morning. We woke up hours early, neither of us able to sleep. Sometime while it was still dark outside I ran the hot water until it turned into an icy storm in my bathroom. I washed every inch of his body, restraining myself better than I thought possible while I soaped over his marks. The signs that he belonged to me. Curled against me in the shower I scrubbed his hair clean. I ran my fingers up and down his scalp and let him enjoy it while it lasted. Now curly, damp, and grey it reached to his collar. I would much rather have an actual collar around his neck, but my father wouldn’t approve. God knows what he would do then. Possibly nothing. Possibly something. It would be best not to gamble when it was more than my skin on the line.   


 

This morning - however, I had sliced a new word into my pet. We were almost finished in the shower. He was sparkling clean, when I pushed him down in front of me. I had only had to reach out to my pants, hanging neatly on the rank beside the shower for him to understand what was going on. I dug in my pockets for a second and he was already trembling when my hand found the prize. His shoulder was my canvas as he knelt in front of me to let me fuck his mouth. I was pleased to hear his sobs even as he dripped precome from his own neglected cock as I carved the word  _ mine _ into him. I came, shuddering into his mouth, holding onto his freshly soaped hair, leaning against the cold tiles. His mouth was still wrapped around me and I had to yank him off my cock.  _ That’s enough .  _ I had to tell him, like he was a spoiled child looking for one more piece of candy before being sent to bed.Tears, blood, and come circled the drain.   


 

I knew it ached him, even now. My eyes rested on his shoulder, right were the newest word should be. I let my eyes burn a hole through him and I hoped it would hurt all day and remind him who he belonged to. If I could only will it to start pounding, for him to feel the burn of raw skin against his starched shirt.  I licked my lips and watched him approach, always teetering on edge. I felt a brief flash of nervousness. He did look half a man again. He looked almost better than he ever had. 

 

Leaner, the dark under his eyes causing the dulled color to pop in the rest of his face. Torture suited him well. If he’d been born a child in Africa he’d be the one they used in all the commercials. His eyes made you feel something for him. If you wanted to hit him, fuck him, or lay your head against his chest it was almost all the same. He caught your attention and then you were trapped with him crawling into a space inside your mind you never knew was vacant until you saw him. Then you craved him like a drug, you needed him there to fill that void that was stamped with his name. I thought of all the people who would be looking at him today, all the humans on this miserable pile of dirt catching glimpses of him and letting him into their minds.  I thought of how he’d been for my eyes only. I hadn’t even let anyone over in months because I couldn’t bear for anyone but me to see this, to own this part of his humanity that was crumbling every day. Now I would have to share with the entire goddamn planet.

 

I felt a pang of fury for anyone who would dare cross me today. 

 

 


	56. alternative to the real world.

 

It smelled aseptic. Bleach was the air freshener to each room. The smell of overly cold air blowing through the vents and sending me shivering. Everything about the ‘office’ lacked personality. There was something inhuman about the cold corridors and plastic plants in terracotta pots. Mr Bolton himself led me through the floors and I tried to commit every inch of the tour to memory. I tried to memorize every tile and windowpane just in case.   


 

Floor one was offices only. Cubicles and public bathrooms. Tacky looking chairs in front of desks with cheap bar coasters. Two was storage and sample rooms, some laid out like pharmacy, some laid out like mock hospital rooms. When I was shown into a made up operating room I felt my skin shrivel, I wanted to close my eyes and go home. There was something terrible in these rooms, lurking under the shinning veneer, something unknown and awful. At least at home I knew what to expect. I shuffled forward.

 

Three was labs. You can only get to three through the elevator or with the key only Roose had. You needed a password to get the elevator doors to open on the third floor. I huddled between my Master and Mr Bolton in the cramped lift and tried to forget everything but the code.  _ 1761, 1761, 1761, 1761 _ in my mind on repeat. I should have been listening but only heard pieces of conversation. Dots and dashes of words between the numbers in my head. Four was administration. A place where meetings were held, clients were greeted. The chairs here were a bit less tacky, the air comfortable instead of irritatingly cold, the scent still impersonal and overly sanitized. It seemed to burn in my throat. Five was imprinted on a button in the lift, but we didn’t stop there, nor did we talk about it. Instead we moved onto six, which was also storage.  I didn’t ask about five. I didn’t think I would like the answer I got.

 

** X **

 

I stalked through the cubicles. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see straight, couldn't function. I could not believe my father would put his hands on  _ my _ Reek. Couldn’t believe that he was even here, hobbling along like a puppy at somebody else’s feet. It wasn’t his fault of course. I had brought him here, and he didn’t know any better. How could I fault him. But my father.... my blood boiled. My pulse spiked. I touched my wrist and felt the throbbing pulse, easily clocking in over a hundred a minute.  Whomever I saw next better look the other way.   


 

Some poor intern glanced at me as I was finally making my way to the kitchen. I needed coffee. Something hot to scald me and burn my mouth until I felt something other than fury. He just looked at me. His eyes meeting mine for a second and I cooled. My coffee forgotten, my day put on hold.   


 

“Would you please come with me. “ Sugar laced toxins. He couldn’t say no. He just told me he would do anything I wanted, because I was Mr Bolton. I would never tire of that. I tugged him down the stairs. Pulled him by his coat sleeve down the concrete steps into the basement, into the dingy bathroom and for one moment I thought he was sure he was going to get raped. I wanted to tell him  _ What kind of monster do you think I am? _ Then I stopped and laughed, and he looked at me like I had five heads. It was alright though. I leaned over the sink in the basement storerooms. I  took off my suit jacket and asked him questions. He sat on a black toilet seat, the porcelain under stained brown and filthy.   


 

H _ow long have you been here? Do you have a large family? A girlfriend? Boyfriend maybe? Do you like your job?_

 

The answers were exactly what I would have hoped they would be. He had only been working for a few days, he wasn’t fully even in the system yet and no he lived alone. He had just arrived. He was fresh off the boat like bug infested produce from some country I would never remember the name of. He had a business degree in some third world college and loved his job. Please, he finished, I’ll do anything to keep it. 

 

Good. Anything at all. I rolled up the sleeves of my shirt, I eyed the disgusting surroundings. How could one of our bathrooms become so terrible? I wondered even while he started shrieking. He begged and cried and pleaded until the end, until I snapped his neck and left him there in the second cubicle with the flickering lights illuminating his broken bones. I’d call the lab rats and tell them they had a new body to play with. They never minded cleaning up. 

 

** X **

  
  


I was eventually showed to a room, shut off somewhere in a corner of the building. I had four walls, a pile of paperwork, a desk, a chair, a whirling fan sitting in the corner causing the papers to lift ever so slightly with each rotation. There was a phone that could only dial inside calls. There was a computer with the most basic internet and every site blocked. No windows for me. One door in and out. Nobody and nothing around and I thought softly that  _ yes I can do this . I can make him proud of me. I can be useful.  _

 

“These are some new insurance claims, just for today we’d like you to sort them. They’ve all been approved, each and every one. You just need to sort them into types, either medical equipment, medications, treatments - “ His words were like a balm to my nerves. Mr. Bolton told me about medical record numbers, he told me about client lists, he tried to use small words. Ramsay had disappeared a few turns back, in some inch of the building he was slinking around all nervous energy about my first day. He had some meeting to attend to so I was told I shouldn’t be expecting to see him for a few hours, possibly until the end of the day and did I have a ride home if he was still busy? I had no backup plan, but I nodded my head all the same. Ultimately my task of the day, after a few moments of a crash course was to sort claims, put them into the computer, send the files towards the departments it concerned and then file away the paper copies. I had a stapler all my own and a mouse and a keyboard that had all working keys.  


 

When I was left alone in the room with just the hum of the fan and the harsh Fluorescent light above me and the sound my fingers made as they struggled over the keyboards to input names and numbers and departments, I found I liked it. I loved the feeling of being back to something useful, even if this job wasn’t rocket science. I couldn't handle rocket science anymore, as if I were ever going to be able to excel to that level anyway. I had never been cut out for the demanding side of work.  This was perfect. I would click, click, clack, click at my keyboard typing out forms and emails and slap the send button with determination.My tie felt like less of a noose and more of a ribbon of pride. I was functional again.   


 

I found myself almost smiling, I had a purpose. The burning in my shoulder was almost gone and with it the memory of this morning and any pleasure I had gotten from it. I could almost pretend to be normal, at least for a little while.   


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God guys, I'm so sorry. I've been busting my ass at work. Vacation soon though. Maybe get some good writing in?


	57. back

It was four forty four when the door open, and there he was - perfect and brave and standing there with his legs spread and the smell of blood on him. It was him, while others smelled like cologne or sweat or the very air seeping into their skin he smelled like the insides of his body come to the surface. Reek had never been happier. 

 

He wanted to stand at attention, wanted to spring to his toes - felt those toes itching and curling in his shoes that rubbed the sides of his feet when he tried to move. All eight toes posed into tight little half circles. The clocked ticked it's seconds away in pained silence. Reek strained where he was, unsure what the new rules were for this environment. Just seeing Ramsay standing there was like seeing a bear in the center of a city street. Beads of sweat dripped down his chilled back, his breathing seemed to quicken.   


 

“Hello Reek. Did you miss me?” The door was shut, a soft click of a lock Reek didn’t even know he had and his mind was off. He nodded his head rapidly, up and down and up and down as he slid out of his chair and onto his knees. The day had gone well enough, nothing excited to a normal person - rather boring for most anyone else on the planet. For Reek it had been life changing, Earth shattering, and if nothing else it had cemented something in his mind. For those few minutes he felt almost like he could rejoin the rest of humanity, but as his scars burned him, as his bruises bumped the desk with every involuntary jerk, he knew his place wasn’t with everyone else. It was on his knees for his Master. 

  
Now that Ramsay was here he felt his mind spin rapidly, his eyes widen to take in the sight he hadn’t known he had missed until it filled his vision. Here he was, cutting through the stuffy air, slicing like a blade through the fog of mindless activity. He was upon Reek like a wolf - clearly having missed something himself. Pieces of the whole separated and reunited. Straining at the waist to get just the passing taste of Reek’s bitter mouth against his. Then he was up, righted and unzipped.  Reek’s mouth watered. 


	58. wilderness

Happiness was an aching somewhere on my body while I sat still and typed. I was thinking of words again, letting them swish around in my mouth like cold water.  _ Fight. Right. Might. Bite. Bite. Bite _ _._ I could only focus on the bright, blindingly white screen in front of me while I let the words float through my mind - I never even heard him come in. 

 

“Theon, are you enjoying it thus far?” 

 

I jumped, my knees banging against the desk, my eyes wild. In the midst of it all my jaw slamming shut on my tongue, blood pooling in the pits of my mouth. He was standing there, suit and tie and ice cold eyes just waiting for my response. I swallowed blood and nodded my head. It wasn’t a lie, I enjoyed the work - the feeling of being productive even if I wasn’t really doing much of anything. I was a bit lost however. Mr Bolton standing, looking at me in this small box of a room - waiting for something from me.   


 

“Do you have anything planned for lunch today?” 

 

I’d been working here for three weeks and hadn’t taken a lunch yet. I hadn’t known how to or furthermore why I would even bother. Ramsay would disapprove - then again I did feel different here, not so much Reek, but not like Theon either.  I felt something stiff and empty inside myself when I had nothing to do so I tried to stay busy and thirty minutes of nothing would lock me up. It wasn't as if I could bring food from home, I didn't have money to go anywhere, or even the means to. I'd never left or entered the building without one of the Boltons to act as my bodyguard inside.   


 

“I’ll take that as a no. Would you like to come with me for lunch today?” Simple. Cold. As if everything were that simple. He terrified me but I couldn’t turn him down. It would be suicide, I knew. I thought of Ramsay. He would be furious. I wasn’t sure why, he hated his father on some level and loved him on another. I was unclear about all the emotions in their house, but knew if I went for lunch one shark or the other would devour me. 

 

“Well? Are you coming?” I thought of Ramsay’s blade, his mouth with a few too many teeth, his wicked smirk - I nodded my head. 


	59. string theory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lunch with a Bolton never goes well.

 

 

There are theories that state two people can be _so_ connected they can feel each other. Usually it’s siblings - twins, have the strongest bonds. Couples can also have the bond, or friends. Some say that they can just feel a presence in the world because of the other person. Ramsay had heard of this mostly due to Domeric's short lived obsession with it. The two had sat on his bed for an entire twelve hours, Ramsay with his mind clear and free and Domeric's clammy hand pressed against his forehead trying to read his mind.

 

The idea is that one twin at the age of ninety three wakes up at four am and just knows the other has died, even if they haven't seen each other in thirty years. One can tell when the other is in trouble, or sick, or in pain.

 

Ramsay never thought this was the case, yet in the middle of his eleven pm meeting he felt something twanging violently inside him. _Go to the window. Go now_. It said. _Something is wrong_. It was an endless plea inside him.

 

He casually looked out of the window just in time to see what exactly was wrong. It was Reek. _His_ Reek disappearing like a rabbit in a hat into his father’s car.

 

X

  


When Reek managed to slide into his own booth the realization hit him that he had no money. This wasn’t a new thought. He didn’t have money, hadn’t had money in a very long time. For one second he allowed himself to speak, if only to get himself out of the situation he’d become trapped in.

 

“I don’t - “ Was all he could manage before a hand waved off the statement like a pesky fly.

 

“I do. Just order, Theon.” The way he spoke his name, so frequently, so often, it sent shivers down Reek’s spine. He wanted to tell him he had the name wrong, but he knew it would mean little and less to somebody like Roose. If he decided to call you by the wrong name you would just live with it until he forgot or until you died. His son was like him in that way.

 

Thinking about it as he mulled over the menu in front of him it reminded him of kidnapped children's parents. He could almost recall seeing something once about saying the person's name out loud frequently. It made the victim look more like a person and less like prey. Say Theon out loud three times and he's real. Or maybe that was Beetlejuice. He put he menu down and instead looked around.

 

As for now nobody was staring at him directly, but he knew there would be eyes on him soon enough. The dinner wasn’t packed but the few inside would watch him. His spider thin legs and arms, the way he twitched, how his suit looked cheap even though it cost quite a bit of money. It hung on him all wrong. His elbows seemed to poke out, he was all bony angles, even with clothes on and people watched with disgust.

 

When Roose looked at him though, he seemed to forget it all. It was like his mind became a blank slate, ready for anything. He felt his eyes fighting for control. He shouldn’t be looking at his boss. Shouldn’t be looking at _Mr. Bolton_ directly. As if he were medusa and Reek would shatter into shards of rock any second. He finally tore his eyes away. He studied the patterns of the table top, sealed over with cracked plastic. His fingers traced a line through aged puddles of syrup. He didn’t even know what he would order given the chance.

 

“You’re not going to make me eat lunch alone are you?” Roose’s voice cutting like a knife through the haze. Ramsay only allowed food when he said so, but he wasn’t here. There was a Bolton though - and that Bolton was his father. Roose was even higher than Ramsay was. His mind whirled. He tried to do the math and felt dizzy instead. When the waitress arrived and Roose ordered lobster tails _(Lobster in a dinner? Did he have a deathwish?)_ Reek numbly ordered a house salad, no tomatoes please.The two sat in silence until two dishes were brought out.

 

As Roose cracked into the lobster, butter staining the tips of his fingers an abnormal sunshine color the conversation turned.

 

“I see you’ve been doing very well with the filing, the sorting.”

 

Theon’s salad had come with whole cherry tomatoes anyway. His stomach flopped as he pushed them over the edge of his plate and onto a thick maroon cloth napkin. They rolled around on his lap as he worked to cleanse his lunch of the red juicy globes that made him feel like vomiting every time he saw them.

 

“Yes, sir.” His eyes stayed locked onto the bed of greens in front of him. His head set firmly downwards, his gaze positioning to not catch a glimpse of Mr. Bolton.

 

“Theon, you're a good worker. I think I have a bit of a promotion in store for you.”

 

He chewed his lips nervously. A promotion wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to stay in his locked little room and file away claims and send emails to other people in locked little rooms. He didn’t want windows or company. He didn’t want anything to change. Yet he couldn’t say no. It was impossible to say no.

 

"You'll love it."


	60. ...%44{5^

Ramsay was a force. 

 

The house shook. Doors were slammed. Glasses were broken. The end table besides the couch lay on it’s side, the lamp on top shattered to pieces each no larger than a fist. He was a tornado. A hurricane. A tsunami of rage and unflappable fury. His etiquette and forced graces abandoned. He was red. He was fury. He was the murder of millions and the scream of a siren.  For once he was reduced to the same sentence again and again, rephrased with different wording but all the same in the end.

 

“You fucked him. You fucked him, didn’t you? You fucking did it. You fucked him” Over and over again. Reek could only cower, trembling as the house was torn apart. It would be so much easier, so much more simple if his fists were raining down on him than the environment around them. That was the terrifying part, the unfamiliar and unknown hatred radiating off him in waves. It was suppose to be towards Reek, towards Theon.  It wasn't the lamp or chairs or tables. He, however was mostly unscathed. One back handed slap across the face had been enough to knock him against the closet door. Later he would notice the long slice  from his ear to the corner of his mouth brought on from some kind of class ring careening off his jawbone. For now it didn’t matter, spots of blood dotted his button up - crimson on pale pink. None of it mattered. Ramsay was a sun, threatening to finally explode.   


 

“I...I never - “ Reek tried, oh god did he try. Too little too late with nothing but spiderwebs on his tongue.   


 

“I don’t want to fucking hear it. I knew it wasn’t a good idea to take you anywhere. You worthless little whore. You fucking slut. Can’t go a day without a cock in you. You fucked him. If you didn’t fuck him you blew him. You fucked him. It doesn’t fucking matter.” Every word spit like venom, each poisonous dart finding a target. Reek tried to think of something, anything to steady himself.  _ Loyal, Royal, Foil, Boil, Boil. Boil. _ It didn’t help, nothing helped. Glass shattered somewhere in the front room. His thoughts turned darker,  silence howled between his ears and he understood tonight he'd be dead. One way or another.   


 

Ramsay was back in the hallway, his fist oozing blood - his eyes wild. He was feral, treacherous as he neared Reek, cornered. There was a calm inside him, the last shreds of Theon getting ready to finally let go.  Somewhere inside his body a miniature version of the person he used to  be held onto thin strings, barely. He waved and smiled.   


 

“Was he good? Did you like it. Did he make you come?” Reek twisted his fingers together, he hooked his fingers into his belt loops. He tugged and pulled and wanted to disappear. The wind whispered through the hall and he knew a window had been smashed. The dogs barked. He whined in the back of his mouth. He felt the chill on his skin. He was afraid, but understood.   


 

“I didn’t -”

 

“No more lies. Did he fuck you well enough? Did you tell him harder? Did you fucking like it.”

 

Reek couldn’t speak - not because he couldn’t find the words but because there was a hand clenching his jaw hard enough to break it. He felt weak bones nearing the breaking point as his head was pushed back against the wood. Fingers worked against his skin, caressing even as they gripped the bone harder. He was slammed against the door behind him, seeing the world break off into two, duplicates hovered in his eyesight. Two Ramsays, four furious eyes. He felt his chest pushed back, heard something snap like dry twigs inside him. It hurt to breath, to move, to exist. If Theon didn't die, Reek surely would. As terrifying as the thought was it was easy to accept.  

 

“You liked it, I know you did. You cockwhore. Fucking cunt.” His words slurred. Reek felt his pants tearing, not being removed, not being cut away - just a fingers pulling apart the seams. They fell away in pieces. His jaw was free for a moment  he had been confused at the lack of touch until he felt Ramsay’s fingers pushing between his legs. Spreading him apart.  He had become so used to this routine he complied as best he could. Best to be cooperative, it would go faster that way even with the world dark tinged at the edges. He tried to softly exhale, waiting for the familiar heat of Ramsay sliding into him. He felt something terrible and hard pressing against his ass. It was ice cold.   


 

It wasn’t his cock. 

 

“Will he still want to fuck you once I’m done?” Slurring his words over each other, a blur of hatred oozing off his tongue. He sounded choked himself, as if he were near tears. It would almost be unbelievable if Reek wasn't here, forced to keep his legs apart.   


 

Reek yelped, unable to scream really - not until the handle of the switchblade was shoved inside him. Then he couldn’t help it, there were no tears, just air being pushed out his lungs in the form of such a loud shriek he couldn’t believe it came from him. Couldn’t  believe his body could still make those sounds. Dizzying pain beat at his chest.  Somewhere inside him Theon smiled silently. He waved again.   


 

“No, no, no, no, n-” 

 

“Don’t ever tell me no. I hate that word. You don’t deserve a right to refuse. You’re lucky I haven’t thrown you out yet.” Reek screamed, he fought. His hands were pushing at Ramsay’s chest, trying to get away to squirm up and off of his captor. The promise of an ending no longer within reach, he struggled. He never cried, he was too tired for waterworks.   


 

Then Ramsay’s mouth was on his and he tasted sweet, fruity, bitter. A red wine in his mouth - he was drunk , completely and totally. Reek felt horror, Ramsay was dangerous, but if he was drunk and uninhibited this wasn't a death-wish, this was just the beginning of a night of torture.   


 

At some point self preservation sets in, finally and truly. Your mind must shut down bits and pieces of the brain to keep the essentials alive. You can not be enlighten if you can not breath. You can not worry about clothing if you do not have water. You can not scream if you have no air.  With Ramsay's hand on his throat, his tongue inside his mouth, the minuscule Theon inside Reek's chest smiled and let go of each and every string he'd been holding onto.  Theon was gone, just a name that belonged to another person.  Ramsay pulled away. Reek shut his mouth, his animal howls hushed. 

 

“Enough. Unless you want me to fucking open this knife. Would you like that? Nothing in that loose ass of yours for a very long time. You’d like it too much, you’d come and scream and cry like such a fucking cunt. You would. I know you. I know you better than you know you. I fucking made you and then you go and do this.” The words were empty, threats that meant nothing to Reek. Ramsay would do what he wanted to do, no matter what Reek said or did. A harsh shove. Pinned against the wall he closed his eyes and tried to block everything out, but he couldn’t help it, couldn’t ignore the pain. Ramsay made sure of it. Reek accepted it.   



End file.
